


Curious Case

by Cleo2010



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assisted Masturbation, Autofellatio, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo2010/pseuds/Cleo2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After burning his hands, Sherlock's unable to release his 'tension' in the usual manner. Who should he turn to? His totally, completely straight friend and flatmate who's totally not into Sherlock or his boy parts at all. Definitely. </p><p>Just a bit of fun that's PWP with a hint of plot, all the way through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Request

“Shut up.” Sherlock snarls through gritted teeth. 

John looks up from the journal he's reading a little bemused yet irritated. Sherlock hadn’t moved from his prone position on the sofa, he hadn’t even turned his head; he was just staring at the ceiling. “I haven’t breathed a word in over an hour. Neither have you.”

“Breathing. Stop breathing then.” 

John sighs and returns to the article he was reading. Sherlock’s mood had been worsening over the course of the past week due to the bandages around his hands. He’d retrieved vital evidence from the fire but at his own cost. They were minor burns which shouldn’t take more than a month to fully heal and Sherlock had enough movement in his fingers to dress himself even if John had to tie his shoes for him and do up the occasional button. It was still a torment for Sherlock.

“You’re still breathing.”

“Yep.” 

“Stop it.”

“Find an unsolved murder to amuse yourself, there’s a whole stack of them in the kitchen you’ve barely looked at.”

“I can’t- why are you so especially irritating today. Are you trying or does it just come naturally to people like you?” 

John doesn’t respond, he knows better by now. Sherlock, not suitably engaged in the fight he was hoping to pick, storms off into his bedroom, slamming the door twice for good measure which surely must have hurt his hands. John sips his tea and enjoys the temporary peace.

~~~*~~~

John hadn’t seen Sherlock the rest of the night, not even to eat. He’d heard him however, throwing things around, yelling with frustration and moving his bed around. He’d considered asking if Sherlock was ok but figured that might be a risk to his health. John just hoped this storm would pass like the many others or some mutilated corpse in a suitcase would show up at Heathrow. Maybe things would be better by morning. 

Morning didn’t have a chance to arrive. 

John can hear Sherlock cursing and fumbling with the door before he finally makes it inside. “John, wake up.” Sherlock switches on the bedside light and begins to pace.

John groans and turns away. “If it’s anything short of a serial killer I’m not getting up. Go to bed.”

“You- you have to help me.” 

John keeps his eyes shut, he doesn’t want to wake up too much or sleep would be lost for the rest of the night. "I really don’t.”

“Please John.” Sherlock climbs into the bed and under the covers. John, startled, turns around and backs up against the wall. Sherlock was only wearing pyjama bottoms and he was very, very hard. “I can’t think, I can’t concentrate, I can’t do anything. It’s getting worse. I’ve tried everything the last few days. Everything.” Sherlock’s words are coming thick and fast and more desperate by the second.

“Stop talking. What are you exactly asking me to do?” John’s eyes are still fixed on Sherlock’s erection, he can’t look away. 

“I need to orgasm and, and I can’t.”

“You... want me... to...”

“Please. I’ve tried everything, I tried using pillows, sex aids, I even tried autofellatio but it’s always been difficult, I have a very specific routine and I can’t do it with my hands like this. I can’t go on like this much longer.”

John swallows hard. It certainly explained Sherlock’s deteriorating mood and resistance to look at the files. “I’m straight.”

“Of course I know that, I’m not asking for full sex I just need you to do everything I would do. You’re a doctor, help me.” Sherlock reaches out but John pulls away.

“You’re my flatmate, we’re friends, can’t you find someone else?”

“I have very specific needs and I don’t trust anyone else to touch me. I can’t climax any other way. Please John, I think I’m losing my mind.”

“From not coming?”

“Yes. It’s like a reset button and clears my head. I do it at least once a day, sometimes twice if I’ve been thinking too much. It’s been a week; I’ve never been incapacitated this long before.”

John was certainly becoming swayed by Sherlock’s desperation but then he’d always been fond of seeing his lovers desperate and needy for him, it made him feel powerful, in control, competent. Surely this scenario shouldn’t have the same effect. He’d never even touched a man sexually before. This was Sherlock though and Sherlock needed help. “I’m not saying yes,” John cautions, “but tell me what you would need me to do.”

“Combined penile and prostate stimulation.” Sherlock says pragmatically as John’s eyes widen. Sherlock carries on regardless. “I’ve brought some lubricant with me, are you happy with silicone based? I find it doesn’t dry out too quickly.” Sherlock grabs the bottle from the bedside table and gives it to John who accepts it blindly.

“Sherlock, wait.” 

“I’ll give you instructions; it won’t take long as you can see.” Sherlock almost smiles. “You’ll be able to find my prostate quickly and there’s a particular massage I prefer. Here.” Sherlock raises one of his bandaged hands to John’s face and gently rubs his index finger against his cheek in a circle. John locks eyes with Sherlock’s, wild and wanting, not a sign of calculation to be seen. Sherlock’s finger traces circles on the patch of skin next to his nose where there is no stubble. Sinuous, purposeful, just the way he wanted. “Like that, soft then firmer as I get close.” Sherlock increases the pressure. He was breathing heavier through his mouth now, John had matched him, lips parted and almost gasping for breath. 

“D-do you want to kiss or anything?” John’s mouth was dry, his cock a little fuller than it should be. Sherlock takes his finger away from John’s face.

“Won’t be necessary. Unless you wish to?”

“No, no I um, don’t want to do that.” He was straight after all. 

“Shall we begin?” 

“This will make you happy again? You’ll be able to think? No more telling me to stop breathing?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be nice I promise.” Sherlock shucks off his pyjama bottoms and pushes back the covers. He kneels up on his knees. “It’ll be best if you’re behind me to mimic my actions.”

“Uh, ok. Light off though.” At least if John was behind him and in the dark he could hide the stiffy that was pushing out his boxer shorts. He was wearing a t-shirt but he wonders if he should put something else on. With Sherlock completely naked and his cock frighteningly hard against his stomach it feels like some sort of sexual faux pas to wear anything extra. John turns off the light, clambers behind Sherlock and sits back on his heels. He can still see him lit by the soft yellowy glow of the street light outside, all hard, long lines.

“Ok, put some of the lubricant on both hands.” Sherlock was so eager, pressing his cock against his own forearm and muffling a groan. John does as instructed, hands steady, the adrenaline has kicked in. Still he was nervous at what he was about to do. He reminds himself that he was a doctor, he was helping, it was no different than any procedure to improve someone’s health and wellbeing. In this case to stop his flatmate going on a sexually frustrated killing spree. “Ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

“Good. Hand first, wrap it around me firmly, start at the base and pull up all the way up over the tip.”

Sherlock groans loudly at the first contact. “Oh god.” John mouths to himself as his cock jerks, harder still. He can’t see what he's doing; he just feel the thick heat in his hand, almost throbbing. He holds Sherlock like he’d hold himself and slowly slides his slick hand up the long length.

“Oh god, finally, finally.” He moans and adjusts his stance. “Good, little tighter, do it again.”

John repeats the action, listening intently as Sherlock moans again, dropping his head forward and relaxing into it. John couldn’t help but enjoy the sounds he was pulling from Sherlock, it felt like a triumph. 

“Good John, now roll your hand over the head, use more lubricant if needed.” 

John did, he could feel hot precome against his palm. He bit his lips together and focuses as he cups his hand, paying attention to the very tip, listening to Sherlock’s reactions. Every now and then Sherlock’s cock would twitch, pushing harder into his hand followed by another lustful sound from Sherlock’s mouth. 

“Fingers, fraenulum, thumb on top, massage me.” 

“Oh god.” John says aloud this time. He does as instructed, massaging that sensitive spot John loved to have licked and smoothing his thumb over the soft, velvety head. It was like his own but different, so very different. 

“Fist again, let me push into it.”

John makes a fist and licks his dry lips as he watches Sherlock slowly roll his hips, swinging them gently back and forth, tensing his muscular arse with each easy move. John looks away, trying to focus on something else other than the feel of Sherlock’s dick sliding in his hand. He wants to grab himself but Sherlock has other ideas.

“Touch my testicles with your other hand, hold them up.” Sherlock instructs, his words coming more raggedly.

“Fuck.” John has to move closer to Sherlock’s back to wrap his other arm around him. His own cock hovering dangerously close to Sherlock’s bare arse. His prick had almost pushed itself out through the gap of his pants. “Fuck.”

“Don’t curse.”

“Sorry.” John finds himself saying before realising it was absurd in context with what they were doing, some early hours assisted wank. John lifts Sherlock’s balls carefully, knowing how sensitive his own were.

“Very good John, roll them a little, mmmm, yes, you’re doing well.”

John isn’t sure why the praise makes him feel good but now he wants to do this perfectly for Sherlock. 

“Pull up the foreskin over the head and stroke me John, like you would yourself. I’ll tell you if I need to alter your technique.”

John swallows back another curse as he pulls Sherlock’s foreskin over his distended head and begins to wank him slowly. “Faster?” John asks.

“That’s good for now, little tighter though.”

John firms up his grip and moves closer to Sherlock still, he needs something to brace against. Sherlock was sighing and moaning softly, John had never heard anything like it, so different to himself or a woman. Even the men trying for a sneaky wank in the barracks. It was intoxicating, fluid, unashamed.

“I need you to begin to penetrate me now.” Sherlock says gruffly as he spreads his knees a little wider. John can smell the arousal in the air now, both Sherlock’s and his own. John lets go of Sherlock’s balls.

John was at a loss at how to do this in a non-medical way, in a way that would please Sherlock. “How?”

“One finger, massage me first, you’ll feel me relax. I showered a little while ago.” 

“Thanks.” John smiles at the courtesy and places one cool finger against Sherlock’s hole. He jumps at first and then eases back. It's unbelievably hot to the touch, no latex glove barrier, it hadn’t even occurred to John to put some on. He begins to circle and spread the lubricant and slowly he feels Sherlock give. “Now?”

“Yes, please John.” Sherlock’s voice breaks.

John presses _in._

“Oh god.” They both say simultaneously. John stares down at the tip of his finger inside Sherlock. 

“Firmer on my cock, John.”

“Yes.” John had lost focus. He keeps his steady pace, making sure Sherlock had pressure on the underside of his cock with his thumb rubbing over the ridge. “Good.” John says. It's not a question.

“More, push in more.”

John keeps up the pressure. The angle is awkward for his wrist but Sherlock wants the pad of his finger against his prostate. 

“Oh, oh god!” Sherlock jerks away but relaxes again. “Yes, knew you’d find it quickly.”

“Told you I was a good doctor.” John quips, still looking at his finger disappearing inside. 

“Oh, yes, just like that, bigger circles, ohhh.” Sherlock was thrusting into his hand and then back on to his finger. It's disorganised and difficult to keep a rhythm but John does his best to keep up with him. “Oh god John, oh, won’t take much longer, I needed this.”

“Good, good.” John rests his head against Sherlock’s perspiration soaked back. He needs something too, he wants to push his cock against something, into something, it aches so badly. “What else? Tell me.”

“Faster, faster on my cock.”

John ups the pace, holding tight. 

“Oh god, press harder inside me.” Sherlock almost growls the instruction and John shivers.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, ohhh, so close, grrr, need...” Sherlock's clenching around John’s finger as he nears his orgasm. 

“Two fingers?”

“Yes. I need more. Be fast.”

John slips his finger out and then pushes in with two. Sherlock cries out so loud John almost thought he’d come.

“More, more.”

“Ok, don’t worry. Won’t stop until you come.” Back to his prostate and Sherlock was loud again. “Shush. You wake the street.”

“Don’t care, oh my god, yes, yes, nnngh.” Sherlock's shaking, John tries to wank him faster and harder still, to push him over the edge. John’s lips rest on Sherlock’s back as he writhes. John licks his lips and accidently tastes Sherlock's salty skin. “Oh John, that’s it! Oh!” 

It's like a convulsion, Sherlock tipping forwards, trembling from head to toe, inside and out. John groans as he feels Sherlock come in his hand, every jerk and spasm coating his fingers. The fingers inside Sherlock can’t move as the muscles clamp down and quiver around him. John has Sherlock’s thigh right next to him; he could rub and come in an instant. “Sherlock I need to come too.” 

“Yes.” Sherlock gasps through heavy panting, still shaking a little.

John had no idea what Sherlock has said yes to but he takes his hand gently off Sherlock’s cock leaving his fingers inside. He pushes down his boxer shorts and grabs Sherlock’s hip to rut against his thigh. “Fu-” John muffles the curse that Sherlock didn’t like. “Almost.” A few more firm pushes against Sherlock’s pale thigh and John cries out, shoving his wrist in his mouth to keep from being too loud. He came on Sherlock. Now he was watching the come run down his thigh.

“Sorry.” John feels shame creeping in.

“Don’t.” Sherlock sighs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” John slowly eases his fingers out of Sherlock and makes an instinctual check that he was ok down there. 

John lies back, exhausted and looks at the man who he’d just made come. The first man he’d ever touched like that. Sherlock sat still and calm on his knees, head hung, chest breathing heavy. Serene. “You do this every day? Sometimes twice?”

“Yes.” Sherlock lays back next to John, his eyes closed. John doesn’t mind if he falls asleep here. 

“So tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow.”


	2. What if...

“Who on earth told you she died of the gunshot wound to the head?”

“Anderson.” Lestrade rubs at his eyebrow wearily. She has a hole in her temple and a gun in her hand, it wasn’t what you'd call a stretch. 

Sherlock snorts. “Of course he’d fall for that, where on earth was he trained? Some sort of online institution in the Caribbean? Gun in hand equals suicide, like forensics by numbers, idiocy at its finest. You were right to doubt him, good man, there’s hope for mankind yet.” John quirks a smile at Lestrade’s bemused face, unused to such an overt compliment. “John, come.” Sherlock demands without even breaking his flow. “Look at the entry site. Get the tweezers out of my trouser pocket; they’re in the Swiss army knife.” He waves his still bandaged hands about while John sighs and tries to grab the tool. This was while trying not to think about his proximity to certain parts of Sherlock’s anatomy he’d gotten to know last night. “We don’t have all day, John.” Sherlock booms, still trying to fidget around the corpse. 

“Stay still then.” John finally manages to fish out the knife and duly kneels down making sure not to disturb the woman’s hand that holds the gun. He removes the tweezers and lifts the skin around the wound to examine the bone. He immediately sees what Sherlock is talking about. Brilliant.

“From the looks of it, the hole in her head was there before the gunshot, they used a drill first.”

“Trepanning.” Sherlock concludes all too smugly. John's enjoying seeing him back at his best, even if the memory of last night keeps floating towards the forefront of his consciousness. The smell of sweat and dried come that had filled in his nostrils the moment he woke with Sherlock beside him was on his mind too. He keeps telling himself it was the act that turned him on; he wasn’t sexually attracted to the man or any man. It was the thrill of doing something so intimate for someone so composed, the sheer carnality of what he was being instructed to do. It couldn’t hurt to do it again, at least while Sherlock can’t deal with it himself. It was practically a public service.

“Trepanning?” Lestrade puffs out his cheeks but didn’t question the conclusion, “Ok, so who would have done this?”

“She’s probably got the number of her alternative therapist in her phone, she’s used them many times before. She consented to the procedure but it went wrong. They brought her home, they knew she had a gun, she told them about needing protection after her divorce. They shot her to make it look like suicide.”

“They?”

“Two people, both female, unrelated. Where’s her phone?”

“Sally’s got it.”

“Ugh, fine. Incompetence abounds.” He storms off out the front door and snatches the phone out of her hand as he passes her. John follows behind looking marginally apologetic. It was still a remarkable improvement in his mood, yesterday he would have made a scathing comment to boot. 

Within three minutes Sherlock had identified the therapists and Lestrade had sent a unit to pick them up. Sherlock, declaring his work done, hails and cab and drags John inside, seemingly eager to get back to Baker Street. 

“Interesting case but if Anderson had been less useless we could still be in bed together.”

“Well, you’d still be asleep and I’d be having lunch.” 

“Yes, I haven’t been sleeping well recently.” There was a smirk in his tone.

“Well, I think we solved that case too.” He spies Sherlock out of the corner of his eye and is unable to suppress a small smile. 

“The Case of the Sleepless Consulting Detective.”

“Hmm, prefer the Curious Case of the Sexually Frustrated Flatmate.” John whispers back, out of earshot of the cabbie.

“And his Supposedly Heterosexual Assistant?”

“I am straight.” John protests quietly.

Sherlock cocks a disbelieving eyebrow but John just rolls his eyes.

“Sexuality is complicated but one ni... whatever it was, does not a gay man make. Or bisexual or bicurious.” Though he probably he was the latter. Definitely Sherlockcurious. 

“Of course, you’re a sexual person, John. And I heard it isn’t gay if your balls don’t touch.” 

John bursts out laughing and Sherlock smiles a small triumphant grin to have gotten such a reaction. The variety of Sherlock’s humour surprises him sometimes. “See, it’s completely fine.” 

John barely has time to catch Sherlock’s studious expression before he moves across the seat and leans down to whisper in John’s ear. “What if I asked for something different this time?”

“What like?” The proximity of Sherlock’s mouth has caught John unawares causing his heart to race. 

“What if I asked you to face me this time?” He whispers again, his words warm in John’s ear.

John thinks for a beat. “I could do that.”

“What if I asked to keep the curtains open so I could see you?”

“Ok.” John wants to see him too so he can read his expressions, make it perfect. Anyway, in for a penny.

“What if I asked you to undress?”

“Um, well I guess after last night that would be ok.” John swallows hard and resists the urge to adjust himself. God Sherlock’s voice is so low. What is he agreeing to?

“What if I asked you to undress me?”

“Do you want me to?” That makes John nervous; he doesn’t want this to become something more than just meeting Sherlock’s needs. Undressing him was too much.

“I’m just asking questions.”

“Then I choose not to answer, not for now.” 

“I just solved a case John, a trifling one, but a case that wouldn’t have been solved without me. I always masturbate after solving a case if I don’t need to eat first; it clears away the debris in my mind. Would you help me again?”

“Yes.” He answers a little too quickly.

“Put your hand on my leg John, we’re starting now.”

John’s eyes go wide. “I-”

“Hand, John,” he repeats firmly, “put your _hand_ on my _leg_.”

John does. His right hand rests on Sherlock’s knee, fingers resting against the inside, his thumb brushing back and forth in the curve beside his kneecap. John doesn’t look at him however; he just stares out of the window. He can feel Sherlock’s warmth through the expensive fabric but John’s body isn’t responding which is comforting. He feels in control of himself. 

“Good, I’ve wanted you to touch me since we left the flat. Especially when you examined her skull for the entry markings without being prompted. You saw what I saw.”

“You gave me tweezers, what else was I supposed to do with them?”

“So many things to be done to a corpse with tweezers, some of them are even useful. Higher, John.”

John slides his hand a little higher, letting it run a few inches up the inside before stopping. He’s seen Sherlock do this before, on the way home from a case, he rests his hand on his own leg, rubbing. John had always thought it was an idle habit or an inability to keep still but it wasn’t, it was part of his post-case self-pleasure routine. John smiles to himself and copies the movement he’d seen, almost a soft, kneading massage.

“Oh,” Sherlock sighs so close to his ear he could feel his lips. “You saw.” John’s eyes flutter shut for a moment before snapping open once more. He's getting hard. 

“Yeah.” John says blankly. He can’t face him so keeps massaging his fingers, his little finger making small circles, while trying to will away his growing erection. They’d just come from a gory crime scene, that should have been enough to stop his disobedient cock but it was having little effect. Sherlock isn’t helping by nuzzling into his neck, wafting the scent of his shaving cream and shampoo. “So observant.” Sherlock sighs again like keen observational skills are the most arousing ability known to man. John bites his lips together to keep from asking to be touched too and concentrates on his task. By now he was unbelievably hard in far too tight jeans but this isn’t supposed to be a two way thing. This is just to help. John holds tight to the door handle with his other hand, any semblance of restraint to reassure himself that he is in control. “We’re almost home. I want to go to your bed again.” Sherlock whispers once more, voice deeper still, nothing to trick John’s mind into thinking this was similar to an encounter with a woman, nothing at all.

“If this is what you need to stay sane and pleasant it’s fine with me.” 

“Good. I’ll pay and you head upstairs, I imagine you are quite uncomfortable.”

“Little bit.” John grimaces, of course Sherlock had noticed despite his efforts to keep deadly still. Maybe too still for his own good, it had given him away. “It’s just a physiological reaction, don’t read into it.” 

“I don’t expect you to be altruistic, no one is.” Sherlock trails an experimental finger along the top of John’s leg which John gently swats away.

“I’m helping _you_. Just you.”

“And you should get something in return. You could have had more than my leg last night.”

How much? John wonders. “I shouldn’t have-” 

“I said don’t last night and I mean it now.” Sherlock says low and firmly. John sees no sense in arguing and isn’t sure if he can actually speak anyway. “We’ll see, shall we?”

“I’ll take care of myself if needs be.” His voice is tight, the more he tries to sound normal the worse it feels. “It’s fine.”

“What if I asked to watch?”

“Jesus.” John squeezes Sherlock's leg with his whole palm and wrings a strangled groan from the man still leaning on his shoulder.

“Mmph. No harm in us both getting something out of this arrangement.”

Before John can respond the cab pulls up outside Baker Street and Sherlock leaps out. John stumbles rather uncomfortably up the stairs and tries to remember how to open the door. He shouldn’t have gotten this hard from touching another man, even if said man was whispering all sorts into his ear. 

Sherlock catches up to him as he opens the door to the flat. “Upstairs, John!” He booms excitably.

John can do this, he can take back control. “What, no tea first?” John teases as he follows behind. Sherlock was demanding him; it was intoxicating to be wanted.

“Tea after, I’ll even make it.”

“Rather you promised not to.”

“Done.” Sherlock fumbles with the knob to John’s door before John takes over. “I’m taking these stupid bandages off.”

“Afterwards. I’ll help you, I haven’t checked them today anyway.” 

“Fine. Help me undress. Takes too long to do the buttons.” 

“Oh,” When Sherlock had asked before it had seemed more like foreplay than necessity, “of course.” Even still, as he undoes each button and exposes more pale skin, it feels far too intimate knowing what they're about to do. John keeps the extraneous touching to a minimum despite feeling Sherlock’s eyes studying him the whole time, testing his response as he works his way down to untuck his shirt and slip it off his shoulders. When Sherlock smiles John realises Sherlock could have done that for himself. 

“Shoes next.” Sherlock instructs. John hesitates but kneels down, a little to the side to avoid having his face too close to Sherlock’s aroused groin. Being on his knees in front of him feels confusing, especially with the added interest his body was showing at the sudden, vivid thought of Sherlock instructing him through his first attempt at performing oral sex. He shakes the thought from his mind as quickly as it sprang up. He does not want to do that. John manages to untie both shoes and let Sherlock steady himself as he slips them both off and the socks too to reveal a pair of well kept feet. “Trousers.”

John looks up and see the bulge; it had seemed less confronting last night but then looking upwards wasn’t helping. He stands so Sherlock looks a lot less... monolithic. He’d not had much time to look at what he was touching from his position before and in the afternoon light everything seems much more stark. “Can’t you?”

“Took me five minutes to do them up.” Sherlock’s tone is short. “I don’t like being incapable so if you could just-.”

John understood. “Me neither.” John cuts him off and undoes the hook on the inside. He can’t help brushing the backs of his fingers against Sherlock’s belly. John expects Sherlock to breathe in and pull away but he continues to calmly watch as John releases the clasp and slides his fingers to the inner button. Sherlock does inhale this time, not consciously though, just from being touched. John clears his throat quietly and pulls down the zip, looking off to the side as it drags over Sherlock’s erection. Sherlock groans at the slightest touch, already on edge it seems. The trousers fall to the floor and Sherlock kicks them away. “I can remove the rest.”

“Ok.” John finds the pang of disappointment confusing, like he isn’t doing well enough. There was only Sherlock’s black Gucci branded underwear to go. 

“Undress for me.”

"Alright." John makes short work of it. Strip teases weren’t his thing unless he's watching a woman and Sherlock doesn’t want to hang around. Sherlock had taken off his underwear and sprawled himself on the bed, pillow under his hips, knees bent and tipped apart. John gapes in awe, half way through taking off his trousers until he falls sideways into his chest of drawers, banging his arm into one of the handles and almost ending up in a heap on the floor.

“Oh shiiii-ugar.” Sherlock found swearing a turn off, though he didn’t actually think ‘sugar’ was a better alternative, it would do for now.

“Focus, John.” 

“You’re distracting me.”

Sherlock covers his privates with both bandaged hands and smirks. “Better?”

John almost laughs and sheds his socks and underwear before climbing between Sherlock’s legs so he isn’t standing around for too long. Sherlock’s eyes are on him again, so John does his best to cover himself a little. He's hard but that isn’t news to Sherlock. Purely physiological. “Ok, um, did you leave the stuff here from last night?”

“We don’t need it yet.” Sherlock moves his hands away and John can’t help but stare. Long, glistening and hard against his stomach, lying against neatly groomed dark curls and pale skin. John remembers what it was like to touch for the first time, how much Sherlock needed him. He certainly looks like he needed him again. “Interesting.”

“Sorry.” John meets Sherlock’s knowing eyes. “Go on, tell me what you want.” John winces at himself. With his voice that gruff it sounded far dirtier than he’d intended.

“If you insist.” A tease all too evident in his tone. “Touch my legs John, lightly, sensitise the skin.”

John doesn’t understand why Sherlock needs any more touching; he was already hard as a man could be. Still, John obeys and starts at each of Sherlock’s ankles, running his fingertips lightly through the long but sparse dark hairs on his calves and slowly up the inside of his thighs. Hard, taut, still softly haired and ever so long. Nothing like the petite women he prefers but it isn’t putting him off in the slightest. He watches his fingers trace up and down Sherlock’s legs, taking a different path each time, teasing closer towards the patiently waiting sweet spots between his thighs. Sherlock's sighing, becoming relaxed and calm but not completely. It dawns on John that this is like a form of meditation, all the noise and detail falling away until Sherlock's completely present in the moment. He understands why this is so important. John finds himself relaxing too, the room quiet but for Sherlock enjoying his touch. It was just them.

“Would you kiss too? My legs.”

Sherlock wouldn’t have done this for himself. “I, um.”

“It’s fine.” Sherlock has tensed again, leaning up on his elbows. “Grab the lubricant; I put it in your top drawer. Oh...” Sherlock’s head falls back on to the pillow.

John holds Sherlock's leg and presses his lips to the inside of his knee, John's other hand still tracing slow, lazy patterns on the same leg. Again, another kiss. “Relax, Sherlock.”

“Very well.” 

John was pretty sure he’s crossed a line but a few kisses wouldn’t hurt. It’s not as if they’d kissed on the mouth or Sherlock had kissed him anywhere. This was still just for Sherlock. John experiments as Sherlock relaxes beneath him again; surely it was like kissing any piece of skin really though the hair tickling his lip was new. As he kisses further down he can smell Sherlock’s distinctive musk, he falters and switches to the other leg, starting at the relative safety of Sherlock’s knee. 

“Mmm, John.”

“Mmm?” John continues, testing with a slightly more open mouth half way down his thigh. Sherlock rolls his hips and moans softly.

“Ohhh. Between my legs, touch.” 

“Where?”

“Everywhere, just not my penis yet. Save it.”

This is the most initiative Sherlock had let him take; he’d been so precise before. John tries to think in terms of what Sherlock might like rather than what Sherlock wants him to do. There was no clitoris to tease and no wetness to explore, but he's looking at a source of physical pleasure and his need to please hasn’t changed. He runs his fingertips back up Sherlock’s spread legs once more, brushing against the underside of his bottom with one and experimentally touching behind his balls with the other. John marvels at the sight of Sherlock pushing back into the bed and wriggling. He isn’t sure whether something specific got that reaction but he keeps going, stroking so lightly it must be torture but Sherlock could ask him for more, he was running the show. Wasn’t he?

Sherlock’s eyes had closed so John quickly sneaks a hand to himself and eases his discomfort with a few strokes before touching Sherlock with both hands again, stroking his testicles and the crease of his thighs. Hopefully Sherlock was too lost in his own head to notice but at least John feels a little better. Next time he’d take care of himself beforehand, might be better for his sanity.

“You keep licking your lips.”

“Dry mouth.” John replies nervously. 

“Do you want to taste me? Kiss more of me?” Sherlock settles one of his hands on his stomach, indicating where he was giving permission. John’s stomach clenches. 

“No.” John shakes his head. “That would be a bit much.” He doesn’t want to put his mouth there. He was still looking though, wondering what would happen if he tried but he can’t bring himself to do more than he was already doing. 

“Fair enough. Lubricant, touch me now.” It would have sounded much more demanding without the aroused and slightly breathy deepness to his voice. Sherlock could get away with anything. “Quickly.”

Pleased for the lack of debate, John reaches over and grabs the bottle Sherlock had brought with him just twelve hours ago. “Like before?”

“Yes. Put your other hand on my leg with your thumb on my perineum with some lubricant, massage circles.” 

John feels more secure with clear instructions and prepares his hands. He sets a hand against Sherlock's thigh and rubs his thumb on the patch of sensitive skin. “Like that?”

“Not so hard, yes, that’s good.” 

John thinks about doing that to himself later, maybe he’d copy Sherlock’s routine. He’d never put his fingers inside himself before though. Ideas for his alone time could wait. John wraps his hand around Sherlock’s hardness and pulls all the way up. He watches intently as the dark flesh slides in his fist and Sherlock moans without any inhibition. 

“God.” John murmurs to himself before repeating the action again. That sound.

“More, again, twice.” Sherlock is struggling to get words out which pleases John very much. He does the same again, once loose, once much tighter which gets much more of a verbal and physical reaction. Sherlock legs tense and stomach curls with that second stroke. John only wishes he could be as unselfconscious as Sherlock, riding every sensation like no one was watching. “Do you need to touch yourself?”

“I’m fine, this now?” John cups his hand over the top of Sherlock's cock and rolls it in his palm, distracting Sherlock from asking anymore questions. He does want to touch himself. Badly. 

“Yes, oh god.” Sherlock wipes his brow with his bandages, his fingers looking chunky and far too bulky compared to his slim, bare forearms. “I solved the case, barely took an hour. Just minutes after seeing the body.”

“You did, not your record though.”

“If they’d cleared the scene sooner- oh god.” John kisses Sherlock’s knee again, John wasn’t thinking about instructions, it had just seemed like something nice to do. Sherlock reacts so strongly to the simplest kiss on his skin; John wonders how often he’d got to feel someone’s lips on his body.

“Rub-” Sherlock begins but John knows what is coming next and massages the head between his fingers. “Nnnngh, John.” He draws out his name and John shudders, bloody shivers from head to toe just from the sound of his name. “Get your fingers ready, I want two straight away.”

“You sure?”

“I’m relaxed enough; I’ll let you know if it hurts. It won’t.” Sherlock sounds far from relaxed, his words strung out and edged with desperation.

Regardless, John slicks his index and middle fingers. “Legs up some more.”

Sherlock adjusts himself. “Hold my cock while you press in, I’m too close to take movement this time.”

“Oh god, Sherlock. Um, ok.” John’s heart is pounding, his skin shining with perspiration much like Sherlock. He sets his two fingers where Sherlock instructed and holds the base of his cock in his hand. He massages him open with two fingers, using his still slippery thumb to lightly circle behind his balls again.

“John, ahh, um, yes, do that.” Sherlock gasps hesitantly. John tucks his thumb away and curses himself for not following his instructions properly.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t stop, I liked it. I don’t usually do that but it’s nice.” Sherlock rambles quickly and John returns to touching him, still easing and relaxing the tight muscle of his entrance. “Now John, all the way.”

John bites his lips together but still groans as he ups the pressure. It was more difficult this time but he soon feels both fingers slip inside. He still marvels at the sight of his fingers disappearing inside Sherlock of all people. He can see so much better this time, the way the skin squeezes tight around his digits. He keeps pressing deep but stops briefly as Sherlock clenches tight at the intrusion. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“Too tight, Sherlock, breathe and relax for me.” 

Sherlock closes his eyes and takes a deep, almost shuddering breath. After another few breaths John feels him relax around his fingers. He keeps going, seeking his prostate. Sherlock's treading a fine line between relaxation and frantic need. “Good, feels better, right?” John speaks softly, keeping Sherlock calm.

“Much. God, it’s so different with you, it’s almost too much.”

“Do-do you want to stop?”

“No, of course not, I’m just not used to this. Prostate, find it now.”

John knows exactly what he's aiming for and does the same massage as last night. Sherlock groans something guttural, panting with each circle of John's dextrous finger. "Oh god." He covers his face in the crook of his elbow. “Oh god, oh god, finish me.”

John grips Sherlock’s cock, slipping his foreskin up and begins to masturbate him. Concentrating on two different movements with his hands is more challenging than last night with the sight of Sherlock as an added distraction. He isn’t making it easy either as he has more space to wriggle and writhe. Sherlock's moaning, gritting his teeth and panting with frustration. He looks like he's on the edge but too tense again. John keeps going even though the lactic acid is building up in his arm and starting to ache, Sherlock just can’t quite let go. 

“Am I doing it right? Tell me what you need.” John has built up the pressure on his prostate as far as he can, any harder and it will start to hurt.

“I-I can’t, I don’t know.” He replies desperately, growling with frustration. “I keep thinking.” 

“Relax, we’ll do this.” John soothes with a kiss to his thigh, lower than ever before.

“Oh, kiss, there, more.”

John kisses again, open mouthed and licks the salty sweat off his skin. Again and again, closer and closer to Sherlock’s groin until he feels the warm wetness on his hand. Sherlock’s muscles tremble under his lips but he doesn’t move them, letting Sherlock come without him staring but still feeling the waves of pleasure vibrating through him. Sherlock hardly makes a sound until he growls an exhale, his legs falling limp either side of John, trapping his hand between the cheeks of his arse. 

John eases his fingers out and releases Sherlock’s cock despite the protests to wait. “I’m just going to pop to the loo.” His brain is chanting, come, come, come, come, come. 

“No, let me help.” Sherlock slurs with one eye half open.

“Really Sherlock, that’s not a good idea.” John's fidgeting as he climbs off the bed. His brain now chanting, my turn, my turn, my turn, my turn, my turn.

“Let me watch. Please.” Sherlock's staring at his cock with two half open eyes now. It looks furious at the lack of attention and John badly wants to change that. 

“Sherlock.” John warns.

“You can picture a woman; it’s not as if I’ll be offended. Lay down, it’s your bed and you prefer to lie down.” 

John's knees always went to jelly as he got close and should ask how Sherlock knew but there were more pressing matters to attend to. Sherlock lies content and messy, much like he had the night before. He’d come with Sherlock there before and the alternative of sitting on the closed toilet seat was never pleasant. John sighs and lies down next to Sherlock. He’d almost left, he was right by the door but some part of him wants to keep pushing this, to see where it might go before he wouldn’t see Sherlock like this again. “Close your eyes.”

Sherlock closes them without argument but still with a question. “Why?”

“I don’t want you to study me while I do this.” John touches himself carefully, realising soon after that his palm was slick with Sherlock, another man’s come. He cringes at himself because it only makes his balls feel tighter and he's closer to coming. 

“You did this last night without complaining.”

He hadn’t had the self control to leave first but it was just for satisfaction, nothing else. “Shush.”

Sherlock falls silent but John knows he's listening intently to John’s breathing, his soft grunts and sighs as he gets closer and closer, the sound of his cock in his palm. Sherlock rolls onto his side to face John but still with his eyes closed. He rest his head on John’s right shoulder and kisses. “God Sherlock, please.” Stop? More? John didn’t know. 

He tries to think of other women he’s been with, soft breasts, full hips, wet heat around his cock but all he can feel is Sherlock touching his side and breathing on his shoulder. The sight and feel of him, the fantasy of kissing the tip of his cock, licking and sucking and oh god. John needs to finish this now, jerking fast and squirming as it builds and builds and builds... “Oh fu- yes. God, ahn...” John’s knees draw upwards and he comes hard, faintly aware of Sherlock kissing his shoulder again as he can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t think... “Oh, oh my god.” He sighs as his body unfurls itself, every cell of every muscle relaxed and content. It was incredible and John was too blissful to care why.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“One second.” John pulls some tissues from his drawer with a trembling hand and gives himself a cursory clean up. God he feels good. “Ok.”

Sherlock opens his eyes, still soft and glowing from his orgasm. “You missed a bit.” 

John can’t see anything so glances at Sherlock to see where he's looking and realises with horror what he meant. He’d come on Sherlock’s face. “Oh shit, fuck, um, sorry, um, really sorry.” John quickly grabs another tissue and wipes Sherlock’s cheek. “Sorry, god, you should have said sooner.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“It’s not polite.” John wipes Sherlock's stomach too but most of his contribution was on the sheets. They need a wash anyway.

“Yes, poor wanking etiquette, John, tut, tut.”

“Thanks.” John remarks sarcastically, still a little mortified.

“I didn’t mind, I was willing to participate much more.”

John doesn’t want to get into a debate. Sherlock was still a man, he doesn’t need to be touched by another man, it isn’t his thing. He pulls the covers over them and lies on his side to face Sherlock. It was odd seeing him so peaceful, this really did help him. “Do you often find it difficult to climax?”

Sherlock's eyes narrow, he was thinking again. John senses he’d made a fatal error. “Are you asking as a doctor or out of curiosity?”

“I wondered if I wasn’t doing it just how you want. You’re medically fine.”

“I do adore the perfectionist in you John. You always have to excel at what you do.” Sherlock grins, his expression soft again, almost gentle. John relaxes. 

“I take pride in what I do.”

“Indeed you do.”

“So?”

“You’re only the second person who has successfully brought me to orgasm, I typically take care of myself but even then it can be challenging to achieve the necessary stimulation to clear my mind. It’s just how I am.”

John's taken aback by that revelation. He holds back a flood of questions like how many partners had he been with? Two, or fifty? Who was the first? Why me? He settled for a meagre, “Ah, ok.”

“I’ll probably be fine for a couple of days now. I want to begin some coagulation experiments involving those fluids I’ve been collecting but I’ll need release when I’m done. I have an old case in mind that I could solve if I can replicate the pollution levels of the Thames back in 1973.”

“Such pillow talk.” John realises after the fact that they’ve arranged to do this again. That wasn’t a problem but he’d suggest doing it like the first night again, at least then he could hide behind Sherlock.

“Would you like me to tell you how much gelatine is required to make jelly from blood, spit and semen? Separately of course, no point mixing them together unless you’re aiming for a specific ratio.”

“Yes, that would be rather ridiculous.” John replies sardonically but happy. “We’ll take off those bandages in a little while; see if you can go without or at least make them lighter.”

“Good, they itch.”

“I’m going to have a shower. You want to rest here some more?”

“Yes, I’m remarkably comfortable.”

John climbs out and wraps his dressing gown around himself. “This is just temporary, right?”

“Of course, while I heal.”

“Good.” Good.


	3. Almost...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got up extra early to post this :D Thanks to everyone who's left a comment or kudos so far, it's just wonderful and makes me beam with happiness.

“John! This way!” Sherlock tugs on John’s arm as they round the corner at a sprint. Their suited target is heading for the Canary Wharf tube station, suitcase in hand and fast on his feet. “Don’t let him get lost in the crowd!” Sherlock shouts as he tries to leap down the stairs without touching a step, almost breaking an ankle in the process. John follows but with less leaping, weaving through the throng of people as they head underground.

John has no idea who they are chasing; he’d gotten a text from Sherlock telling him to come to the HSBC Tower at once and to wear sensible shoes. At least the shoes make sense now they’ve been running for close to ten minutes at full speed. The target is heading deeper, jumping the deceptively tall ticket barriers. “Sorry!” John shouts. “Police emergency!” He keeps running, trying to keep up with Sherlock and away from the disgruntled Underground staff. 

They're heading down to the platform level; if he gets on a train they’ll have him. It's busy for three in the afternoon so John has to push through the crowd in the direction of the protests Sherlock's creating until he gets to the front of the platform. Sherlock's at least thirty feet further up on John's right hand side. John sees the target dart out. “Sherlock! He’s crossing the platform!” The rails are already singing as a train approaches. It's too late to follow him. John turns to race upstairs again anticipating cutting him off on the surface but he's distracted by more movement on the track. “Sherlock, NO! Train!” 

Sherlock's almost the whole way across but not quite. "SHERLOCK!" John watches as the train speeds into the opposite platform, whooshing the air out of his lungs and filling him with sickening, gut wrenching fear. Everyone around him makes similarly horrified noises, clasping their hands to their mouths. John scans the opposite platform. “Oh god.” He can’t see Sherlock. He didn't see him climb up. John feels like vomiting, he can’t see him, can’t hear him. “Did he make it?” John calls to anyone who might have seen. There are just murmurs in return and some unhelpful idiot muttering about natural selection. John keeps searching for sight of Sherlock but sees nothing. “SHERLOCK!” The sound of the engines are too loud. “DID HE MAKE IT?” John calls across to the other platform. “Oh shit, oh shit.” John doesn't know what to do. “SHERLOCK!” He shouts again.

Just when he's about to jump down on the tracks himself John sees a woman frantic hammering on the window of the train opposite. She's nodding and giving a thumbs up. “He’s alive?” John mouths. “Yes.” She mouths back before pointing upwards. John gives her a wave of thanks and pushes back through the crowd again. The relief is magnificent but he needs to see him. With each step the wave of relief diminishes and his anger builds. That risk was too great, even for them. John makes it back to the street level without running into an irate ticket officer and soon spies a crowd gathered not too far from the exit. It must be him.

John eases his way through the crowd to find Sherlock sitting astride their target holding his arms behind his back the best he could. He has lighter bandages now but his palms and each finger are still individually covered, leaving just the tips exposed. Another man in a business suit who John doesn’t recognise sits on the target’s legs, obviously enlisted from the crowd and looking rather pleased with himself. The target is just laying there defeated with a scrape from the tarmac on his face. 

“Ah good John, knew you’d catch up.” Sherlock beams. “Help me check his forearm for vaccination marks.”

“You bloody stupid idiot!” John yells much to Sherlock’s surprise. The crowd looks on at the latest development as John paces and gesticulates. “You could have died!”

“But I didn’t, almost doesn’t count. Now help me, I don’t have the dexterity and there’s no one here with a medical background.”

“No I won’t bloody help you! You almost got hit by a sodding train, Sherlock!” 

“Almost.”

“Stop saying almost! I didn’t see you make it to the other side, I thought it hit you, I thought you were dead Sherlock. DEAD!” His stomach sinks as he relives that moment again, the seconds of not knowing felt like hours.

“I’m not.” Sherlock repeats calmly but John continues to rant. It isn’t enough, he needs Sherlock to at least acknowledge he’d been foolish and that it might have been a little unpleasant for John to watch.

“You can’t just follow anywhere some bloody murderer goes!”

“What?!” The man on the floor begins to struggle and thrash around to no avail. The man who's sitting on his legs holds him down and flashes a grin at one of the female onlookers. “I’m no murderer! I haven’t killed anyone, I was saving lives!”

John stops pacing for a moment, struck by some form of sincerity in the target's voice. “Sherlock?” 

“It’s a fraud case. He was embezzling.” He replies plainly, adjusting his tenuous grip.

“And buying HIV drugs in bulk and sending them to hospitals in Malawi.” The defeated man adds.

“Is that true?” John can barely restrain himself but he does, he's good at restraint. Most of the time.

“Yes. He had an ingenious method, three phases-”

“Well that’s just fucking great!” John growls sarcastically. “You not only risked your life to catch someone who wasn’t actually hurting people you jumped in front of a train to arrest Robin-fucking-Hood!”

“Stop swearing, John.”

“I’ll fucking swear all I fucking like you wanker!”

“I understand you’re upset.” Sherlock’s words are tense, spoken between gritted teeth.

“Too _fucking_ right.” John purposefully emphasises the foul language, they were surrounded by city workers anyway and John's on a self righteous roll. 

“I was hired to solve a case surrounding vast amounts of missing money taken in small increments from off shore accounts and investment funds. It led to this man, his motive doesn’t concern me.”

“Well, can’t let the tax dodgers and short selling tossers who screwed the global economy miss a few bob can we?” The crowd murmur in agreement, at least the ones not in international finance. 

“You should listen to your boyfriend and let me go.” Pipes up the embezzler.

“He’s not my bloody boyfriend.” John yells back before noticing Lestrade and Donovan have joined the crowd. 

“Are we here for the fraud or the domestic?” Quips Sally all too smugly. 

“I’m going back to work, we’re seeing patients late tonight.” John mutters before storming back through the crowd. "Bloody idiot."

~~~*~~~

John returns as late as he can to the flat. He was actually ahead of his paper work, all caught up on his journals and had even cleared out the rubbish that had built up in his desk. He had to go home. He slips his key into the lock as quietly as he can and hopes he can sneak up into his room without detection. He’s barely inside the flat before Sherlock's upon him, pressing him against the door. 

“I solved the case, he had a partner, I _need_ you.” He demands, low and drawling, eyes locked with John though he tries to respond with a glare. It's been three days since their last time after the trepanning case, Sherlock had been working on his experiment and then constantly on this fraud. He's well over due.

“No. Sod off.” John tries to push him away but Sherlock leans his full weight against him, rubbing his erection against John’s hip. John pulls a face but feels his blood rush. 

“I haven’t slept since I got the case, I won’t be able to until you help me. I need you.”

“Piss off and live with it. I’m getting some food and going to bed. Alone.” John gives Sherlock an almighty shove backwards and storms into the kitchen. John purposefully ignores where Sherlock skulked off to, grabs a frozen lasagne out of the freezer and chucks it forcibly into the microwave. 

Sherlock returns to the living room five minutes later and from the sounds of it has just thrown himself dramatically on the sofa. John takes a sly peek at what he's up to and finds Sherlock's completely naked. John grumbles under his breath, he not going to rise to this. He only has another six and a half minutes until his food is cooked but he is rapidly losing his appetite. He won’t look at Sherlock, he won’t say a word, he’ll let him put on his little show without an audience. John prepares a tray, loudly crashing things around and keeping his eyes well away from the man in the living room.

John won’t think about what he's doing, whether he's stroking his body with his exposed fingertips, whether he's sighing softly, whether he's touching himself with a bandaged hand... John peeks and his jaw drops.

Sherlock lies folded in two, legs over his head and braced against the arm of the chair. "Jesus Christ." John sighs. Any remaining will to stay angry dies a quick and painless death as Sherlock's arm moves to reveal the sight of Sherlock's tongue snaking out to lap at the tip of his erection. Sherlock's frustrated moan meets a more pleasured one from John. He's never seen anything like it, both obscene and elegant, beautiful and filthy. 

Sherlock adjusts, trying to bend himself over further, his feet slipping on the sofa and his mouth desperately open and seeking his own cock. John watches as Sherlock's frustration builds. He could barely wrap his lips over the tip and it certainly wasn't enough to get him off. John could just imagine how it feels, unwillingly teasing and maddening. Sherlock swirls his tongue and John swallows hard at the sight of the pink muscle circling, tasting and reaching for as much of his cock as he can. John lets his own hand drift and palm himself through his trousers. It had to be the most erotic sight he's ever seen and he just can't tear his eyes away.

John's snapped out of his hypnotic arousal by the sound of Sherlock's fist slamming down hard on the sofa. He's breathing heavy, panting with a grimace. He adjusts and tries again, this time folding enough to take in the head of his penis and moaning with satisfaction. John massages his fingers over the tip of his cock, mimicking the attention Sherlock was giving to himself but the friction from his boxers is uncomfortable. The thought of slipping a hand inside crosses his mind but he purses his lips and keeps his eyes on Sherlock.

John gasps again as Sherlock gingerly begins to bob his head the small amount he can but the hand that's clasped to the back of one of his calves is telling John it isn't anywhere near enough to make him come. John rubs at his face and makes a decision that's probably influenced marginally by the amount of blood pulsing through his cock. 

He walks toward Sherlock, the sight of him bent over becoming more and more explicitly lurid with each step as the extent to which Sherlock is exposing himself becomes clear. John tries to avert his eyes but the first place he looks is Sherlock's mouth, sucking tight, and then two pleading eyes. John doesn't say a word, instead of reaching for Sherlock's hardness like he's done before, he places a hand on Sherlock's raised arse, fingers dangerously close to his hole, and eases him over, letting Sherlock take more of his own cock into his mouth. 

"Mmmmphmmmmph." John smiles at Sherlock's exceeding grateful, hungry and happy noise. John starts to rock Sherlock, letting him slide and suck without having to move his own head. Sherlock reaches out and squeezes John's leg in what he thinks is thanks but the touch makes his cock surge and pulse even harder, desperately demanding attention. He can't, even if he's doing this now he's not doing it at the same time. 

John keeps him rocking, watching his slick cock move between full, pink lips, the shine of saliva down his chin and the bright red flush on his cheeks. From the way Sherlock's jaw moves John can picture his tongue working, trying to edge himself closer to climax. John wonders how he likes it, what his tongue is doing and whether it was as clever as the man himself as it flicks, winds and rubs. 

The sudden dig of fingertips into his leg reminds John of the missing ingredient. With nothing to hand John sticks a finger in his mouth. Sherlock groans deep and hard, spreading his feet on the arm of the sofa as far as they can go. Sherlock's eyes are fixed on the finger in John's mouth. John's desperately wishes both his hands weren't occupied or that Sherlock would move his and relieve some of the pressure. He could ask and he's sure Sherlock would touch him but the words won't come. 

The urgency to bring Sherlock off was becoming serious for John's sanity. He takes his wet finger and circles Sherlock's spread pucker, watching in a way he'd only ever felt before, as he moves, twitches and begins to accept the insistent pressure. Sherlock's pulling on his trouser leg now, 'impatient bastard' so John pushes harder, sinking deeper and easier despite the barely sufficient lubricant. John twists his wrist so his thumb can tease behind Sherlock's balls. Sherlock jumps at the new sensation, almost losing his grip with one foot in the process. John hears something mumbled that sounded like 'don't stop, more, more' so begins to work his finger and thumb, all the time keeping Sherlock's cock rocking in and out of that luscious, wet mouth.

They're getting there now, John seeks out that spot that's more difficult to find with Sherlock scrunched up. John can't quite believe the situation he's gotten himself into, helping Sherlock fellate himself whilst massaging him inside until he- "Ohhhhmmmph!" Prostate. John increases the tempo, listening to Sherlock's desperate breaths, the extravagant slurping noise as his technique begins to fail, and his frantic grabbing at John's leg. They're close now.

John can see Sherlock's thighs begin to tense and tremble, he thought back to how he'd kissed them last time and thought about finishing him off now with a wet lick and kiss along arse and thigh but he doesn't want to miss the moment Sherlock comes in his own mouth. John's eyes are locked on Sherlock's face, almost the whole length of him sliding in and out of that mouth with John in full control of the rhythm. John squeezes Sherlock's arse and rocks him a little harder, pushing the limit of how much Sherlock can bend and how much he can take of himself. It was simply the most open and wanton thing John has ever bared witness to and his cock is ready to explode. 

Faster and firmer inside Sherlock's arse and John can see him there, teetering. John just wishes Sherlock would touch him without waiting for him to ask. It wouldn't take much and he'd come right there in his boxers or if he undid his flies; all over Sherlock. John muffles another groan from that thought alone, wishing he'd never imagined it and wanting to make it real all the same. He's silently begging Sherlock to come so he can finish himself, maybe right there on the sofa, wanking as hard as he can. Sherlock was amazing like this, nothing but pleasure and openness, eager for satisfaction and release.

Sherlock loses the rhythm he was keeping when John presses firmly with his finger and thumb and... oh there it was, John feels the clench and the groan that rumbles through his whole body. Sherlock's eyes cinch shut, swallowing but not quick enough as a trickle runs down his chin. Sherlock hums happily as his head relaxes and his cock slips free. Sherlock unfurls himself in one flomping move, extricating John far too quickly for comfort but too boneless and content to care. "Fnnnkhs." He mumbles as he wipes his chin and catches his breath.

Sherlock keeps a hand gripped tight on John's trouser leg leaving John standing over a completely naked Sherlock with a massive erection and very little reason to be there. "Um..."

"Come 'ere." He tugs on the material, dragging John closer to the head of the sofa. John decides quickly that he wants Sherlock's hand on him, any hand right now, because it frankly won't take long and then he can lie down too. He's been too tense and this is what he needs right now. Sherlock sits up and sets to work on John's belt. He has his trousers down before John realises he's licking his lips. 

"Oh, you're going to..."

Sherlock pulls down John's blue boxers, springing John's erection free. "I have a taste for it now." The heat is incredible as Sherlock engulfs him deep. 

"Oh, oh, oh god." John's knees shake and almost give way. 

Sherlock stops and lays back on the sofa. "Straddle me, don't want you to keel over."

John steps out of his trousers and obeys, he's no time to think about who and why when he needs to feel that heat again, that mouth that Sherlock had just come into. He settles his knees just below Sherlock's armpits with his cock presented to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's hands rest on John's hips, guiding him back to the heat. "Ohhh, god, godding god."

It's good, it's hot and wet and Sherlock's tongue is dancing but something's not right, something about the way Sherlock is testing his reactions. It's not what John wants. John pulls away, sliding out of Sherlock's mouth. "Wait.. wait..." 

"Stop thinking, John."

"No... not that... um, do it the way you like it."

Sherlock grins and keeps his eyes on John as he breathes hot breath scented with come over the head of his purpling cock. "Oh god, I've held on too long for slow, Sherlock. God the sight of you."

"Patience." He breathes, dragging his fingertips up and down John's thighs, just how John knew he liked, the way that made him focus on his body and his body alone. It really was lovely but John was well past the point to appreciate it properly.

"How do you like it when you're desperate then?" 

"I like my roommate to fold me over and do everything we just did." Sherlock's fingertips stroke upwards and thread through the hair at John's groin. The mixture of skin and bandages makes for an odd sensation.

"I'm not that flexible." Sherlock licks lightly at the tip, barely touching. He holds John's length between two bandaged palms and John rocks ever so slightly into them. Feels- "Christ, Sherlock, I'm close to hurting here."

"Fine," he sighs, "maybe one day you'll _ask_ for it done properly." Sherlock's eyes flash a grin before he grabs John's arse and pulls him forward into his open mouth and sets the pace, John canting his hips with him. Sherlock's tongue winds, lips tight and suction perfect to bring John to the edge in no time. 

"Yes, oh that's it... oh god..." John can feel the tension ready to snap, there's no chance for him to be aware of what Sherlock's doing with his tongue when he sucked himself off. He can only think of Sherlock as he nears the brink. "Sherlock! Gonna-" He cries out in warning only to have Sherlock's gripping his arse, pulling him tight in as he comes. "Oh fuuuuu..." 

John slumps, hand the arm of the chair to keep from toppling forward. Sherlock guides him down to lay beside him. John looks at Sherlock, he'd just gotten a blow job from another man and it was amazing. Sherlock looks back, equal parts smug and content knowing full well that he'd just blown the mind of his good friend. Oh god. "Sher-" The microwave pings in the kitchen and they both burst out laughing. 

"Sleep now." 

John closes his eyes a drifts off.


	4. Just there...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where we have a bit more plot, normal service resumes in the next chapter!

John hasn't slept. Well, not what you'd count as sleep anyway. He managed an hour long snooze on the sofa but woke to find himself with no trousers or pants in the arms of a completely nude and sleeping Sherlock Holmes. His adrenal glands then decided to give him a year's supply of adrenaline in one go hence the lack of sleep since that rather acute moment. Granted, he couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up cuddling someone and that moment of contentment before the horror set in was heavenly, but it shouldn't have happened. He gets out of control around Sherlock, especially when he's naked and - yeah, the rest. 

He stirs an extra sugar into his tea and braces himself for a perky and whistling consulting detective. He'd heard him singing in the shower this morning, some Italian opera-type thing that John would have otherwise enjoyed but his mind didn't need his attention drawn to Sherlock in the shower.

"Morning, John Watson!" He says brightly, throwing a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. He's fully dressed which makes John feel too exposed in his loose pyjamas bottoms and long sleeved t-shirt. He should have put on his dressing gown or maybe just wrapped his duvet around himself and duct taped himself inside. He didn't trust his own body anymore. 

"You slept well I take it." John grumbles while automatically making Sherlock a cup of tea. The less he looks at Sherlock the less vivid the memories. His own hands are memory enough, a reminder of everywhere they've touched Sherlock. They were reminder of what touching Sherlock had done to John. He can't quite believe he let it go that far but he just couldn't disconnect from the moment, it was irresistible. 

"Marvellously, thank you. I take it you spent all night brooding over your sexuality." 

John's irritated weariness is only enhanced by Sherlock's laid back position at the table, arms behind his head and looking distinctly refreshed. "I let a man - do what you did - and I enjoyed it, you do realise this is a problem for me?" 

"You were highly aroused, you would have let the Queen if she'd offered."

John snorts against his will. "Well, you should never turn your back on her." 

Sherlock stifles a laugh, after all, he's met her twice and prevented her assassination once. "I don't see the problem. Good time had by all, once you got that bee out of your bonnet."

"Don't even start on that, Sherlock." The train incident had fallen to the back of John's mind but it definitely wasn't forgotten. John sighs into his hands and tries to rub his face awake. "I'm not... this was supposed to be a one way thing and getting my kit off and..." Well, Sherlock knew what they did, "...and then falling asleep on you isn't supposed to be my cup of tea."

"You're not homosexual, John. There, feel better?"

"My cock apparently begs to differ." John grimaces as memories of last night once again assault his mind's eye, Sherlock's lips hovering over him, hot breath and an even hotter tongue. He'll never forget and he isn't sure if he really _wants_ to forget. Was it just the act? Or was it Sherlock?

"It's all academic anyway, men, women, it's all skin and orgasms; if you're lucky." Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at John who chucks a splash of milk in Sherlock's tea and plonks it unceremoniously on the table. "Does..." Sherlock waves his hand in the air searching for inspiration, "oh some Hollywood star, does... Johnny Depp arouse you?"

"No, I mean, he's good looking but he doesn't do much for me." No man had. "Why, do you have a thing for Captain Jack Sparrow?" 

Sherlock steeples his fingers but they're tapping, not still like usual, he's thrumming with energy after last night. "Not that I've been attracted to enough men to establish a type, I'm rarely enamoured by a pretty boy and he's exceptionally pretty. Despite the facial hair."

"Surprised you know who he is in the first place. Who do you go for?" John's curious, especially now he's seen how sexual Sherlock can be. What would he be like with a proper partner? John knew that he wouldn't be able to shake that particular thought for a while. 

Sherlock's staring directly at John as he answers. "I go for a certain spirit, a force of character, an intellectual challenge and a complexity that confounds and excites me."

"All about the personality then."

"A rather handsome cock doesn't go amiss either."

John laughs. "Oh yeah? What do you think of mine?"

Sherlock pauses, tilting his head at John. "You care."

John splutters for a moment, "I don't _care."_ He scoffs, knowing full well he's over egging his protest and then some. "It was just a joke, Sherlock. A _joke."_

"Hilarious. Right, I'm off." Sherlock forgets his tea and toast and leaves the kitchen with John close behind.

"Wait, where are you going now?" John can't follow, he has to work today.

"London, John! It's my oyster!" Sherlock throws on his coat and heads out the door.

John doesn't let it slam behind him, he's not finished even if he has to shout at him running down the stairs. "No sodding Underground, I'm still angry with you, you bloody lunatic!"

"How can I man with such a handsome cock be angry about anything? Bye!" 

John rests his forehead against the side of the door as Sherlock exits the main door. He's half hard. "Oh fucking hell, I'm in trouble."

~~~*~~~

John gets home a little later than he expected but the bus driver decided that the best way to manoeuvre around a double parked car was to push it to the end of the road. That did not go down well with the owner of the car and a fist fight ensued but at least something remotely interesting happened to take his mind off his own problems, even if it was just for a few minutes. John had come no closer to making sense of what he was feeling. As much as he was panicking his mind was conjuring fantasies just as fast. That hadn't helped his headache and aching neck. 

He shrugs off his coat, toes off his work shoes without bothering with the laces and kicks them out of the way. The hallway smells faintly of earth but John ignores it and collapses on the sofa, doing his best to remove his tie with exhausted fingers. Now the smell of earth gives way to the scent of Sherlock. He sees it again, but this time their positions are reversed, with John sat on the sofa, breathing heavy over the head of Sherlock's cock, his tongue darting out to taste another man for the first time. Not just another man, but _Sherlock,_ slate eyes heavy, observing John's exploration with equal parts lust and intrigue. No, he doesn't want that. John discards his tie to the side table with annoyance, covers his own face with both hands and lets out and long, satisfying groan of frustration and tiredness. What the hell was he going to do? He needs to sleep but he can't escape his own head and lurid sexual fantasies.

"Boring day, John."

John moves his hands down far enough to see Sherlock in a different suit than he was wearing this morning and smelling freshly showered. John thought he looked gorgeous and then cringed at himself for thinking such a thing. He drops his hands and tries to act like he hasn't spent the whole day thinking, fantasising and worrying. "Didn't think you were home."

Sherlock takes a seat next to John, smelling all the more fresh and clean close up. "Got into a fight at a garden centre in Croydon, had to wash off the compost." 

That explained the smell in the hallway. "Right, did you win?"

"Of course, they didn't stand a chance."

"They? How many people did you fight?"

"Just the two."

"Not too bad then. What case were you working on?"

"No case, it seemed the parents didn't appreciate my musings on their wretched child."

John can't stifle the laugh that bursts through his lips despite his foul mood. "You beat up the kids' parents?"

"Oh, he wasn't the father, obvious from the ear lobes."

"That wasn't what you said, was it?"

"No, I just made a comment on the child's girth when he stood on my foot."

"Oh Christ, well, I guess that's another place to add to the list of place you're banned from."

"Two years." He grins with pride. "But the mother threw the first punch, I was defending myself." 

John turns his head painfully to give Sherlock a wry grin but notices a bulge in his trousers. He really wasn't sure he was up for doing that tonight.

"Ignore it, it's just chancing its luck, it'll go away." Sherlock declares casually. John wonders if it's because they're here, together, on the sofa. Then again, Sherlock had told him he would tend to his own needs at least once a day, his body's anticipating being touched. "You didn't have one interesting patient all day." 

John accepts the change in topic. "No, just an endless stream of runny noses, runny arses and sick notes. Is it that obvious?"

"Your left shoulder is raised one inch higher than usual and your right shoulder has risen by two. You've got significant neck discomfort and a tension headache."

"I took some paracetamol before I left the surgery."

"Ibuprofen would have been more effective. So would a brandy."

"I didn't have any ibuprofen and I really don't want a drink right now." Especially as that was something that usually put him in the mood. "I think I'll skip dinner and sleep until lunch tomorrow."

"Come here then." Sherlock moves back against the arm of the chair with one leg up on the cushions leaving space for John to sit between. His erection had just about subsided but not completely. John's mouth waters a little.

"Sherlock, what exactly are you proposing?"

"You're not going to be able to get comfortable when you're still that tense and you've been helping me sleep recently, it's only fair that I return the favour."

John's cock responds immediately, already picturing laying against Sherlock as his fingers undo his trousers, slip inside and curl around... oh god. "I really don't think having you get me off is going to make me less tense right now."

"Take your mind out of the gutter; I'm offering you a neck rub. Shoulders too if you're feeling daring. You can keep your shirt on and you'll remain unmolested. I'm very good."

"You can't blame me for assuming." John rubs his own neck and winces. "Ow, yeah, alright then." It would be nice for someone to do that for him, it's been a while since he's had contact that wasn't sexual or professional. "Won't hurt your hands?"

"They're fine, healing quicker than expected." Sherlock wiggles his fingers, the tips exposed like they were yesterday. "Now sit."

"Where do you want me?"

"Just sit between my legs with your back to me." 

John sits carefully down making sure he doesn't unnecessarily touch Sherlock. It's ridiculous really, if Sherlock had offered a neck rub a month ago, a rarity in itself, he wouldn't have cared. Now every touch is scrambling John's brain with a mixture of panic, doubt and arousal. It doesn't help that he's gotten a little worked up at the thought of Sherlock touching him which only makes his head hurt more. He's more than a little confused and just can't get the space to think. Not that he's helping himself as Sherlock's hands come to rest on his shoulders, thumbs at the base of his neck as he begins to gently knead. "Ohhh."

"Might hurt a little at first."

It did, but not in a bad way. John's head begins to loll with each increase in pressure as he relaxes and gives into Sherlock's agile hands. "When did you learn to do this?" 

"I spent two months working at high end spa for a case-"

"Aaaaghhhh, Jesus." Sherlock hits something good just above his shoulder blade but Sherlock immediately withdraws. "Don't ease up, it's good, like wiggling a loose tooth or poking a bruise. Keep going."

"Demanding." He quips.

"Carry on with the story. I _demand_ it." Sherlock shifts and squeezes John's trapezium muscles. "Ohh, aaghh, good."

"It was an interesting smuggling case. The police brought me in, they'd caught some diamond and other precious stones smugglers who were trading in a little heroine and people on the side. The police could follow the drugs and people easily once they were inside, but the money was trickier. They couldn't work out how they funded all the equipment and transport, it was far more sophisticated than the thugs who were seemingly in charge. I traced a transaction for a Cessna to an account in the Cayman's which after little greasing turned up the name of a man working at a spa in the Cotswolds."

The pain in John's neck and shoulders is starting to give way to something much more relaxing, though a slight discomfort rumbles underneath. "How did that mean you had to work there for two months?" John grits his teeth as Sherlock increases the pressure but it feels good, really good. 

"He wasn't personally involved, he just happened to be the lover of one of the masterminds and an easy mark. I took a quick course, mocked up some references and they hired me on the spot. It's amazing how forthright people can be when they are undressed, relaxed and being touched by a complete stranger."

"You already know my pin number, ohhh, ahhh." Sherlock rubs his knuckles at a particularly stubborn spot. "God, Sherlock."

"Well it was obvious and anyway. It's of little interest to me, you have almost no money." 

"Ha, ha. So who was running the show then?"

"A group of Stepford wives. They got bored with charity functions and shopping and decided on one of their safari's that it would be jolly good fun to smuggle diamonds home in some of the staff. From there they built up an impressive network very rapidly, funding boats, planes, fake passports and using their connections and reputation to flog the raw stones back home. They had a natural talent for large scale criminal enterprise."

"Blimey. Oh, mmmm." Sherlock was working down John's back which had happily slumped over, enjoying the pressure of circling fingers and thumbs as Sherlock can't slide his hands. Even through his shirt it was lovely.

"Five women headed the operation, very clever, they hid their trail well but they all had trouble not boasting about how fiendish they were. They'd go on about how it was all their idea in the first place and how the other women were gullible cash cows."

"All it took was your magic fingers. Ohhh, there, there, there." Sherlock had his thumbs working up either side of John spine at the nape of his neck. His head falls forward, still too tense for his chin to touch his chest but it feels sinfully good to stretch the muscle as Sherlock works it with perfect pressure. 

"They would tell me anything and everything." Sherlock's voice turns gravely and distinctly Eastern European.

"You went undercover as a Russian? Mmmmph, god Sherlock no wonder you charged for this."

"Ukrainian, it suited my features and who says I'm not charging?" He continues in the accent, rolling his r's and coating each word in honey. He still sounded like Sherlock though, usually he sounded like a different person when he did one of his voices. "It was simple. You are very beautiful woman, very clever, you should have trophy husband like me not fat man like your husband."

"Oh I bet they ate that up."

"Of course, I am Sergey, I make you happy. I help you send money to Africa and you pay me with ruby, yes?" Sherlock moves up from John's neck and into his scalp, thumbs resting at the base of his skull as his fingers move and massage through his hair. John closes his eyes, he's never had a massage like this before, the pressure and pain was dissipating like Sherlock's released a hidden valve. Sherlock drops the accent, "Once they trusted me it was pitifully simple to work out what they were doing and gather all the evidence I needed. By the time Sergey was done with them he could have taken over the whole operation and gotten them to do anything he desired."

"Mmmm."

"We should stop our arrangement."

"Hmm?"

"Our arrangement, you helping me. If it's upsetting you we shouldn't continue. You're not obligated."

"Don't wanna talk 'bout it r'now." So tired.

"No, I suppose you don't. Here." Sherlock eases him backwards so John's laying against his chest, head resting low on his shoulder and his legs stretched out. John doesn't resist. Sherlock keeps massaging his scalp and temples. John finds himself drifting, sleep creeping in at the edges of consciousness. They stay like that for a time, breathing in rhythm so their chests rise and fall together in the silence of the living room. John's the most comfortable, warm and content he can remember since before Afghanistan. He feels safe. "This is pleasant, I haven't done this for someone I like before. It's different."

John's faintly aware of feeling Sherlock's words against his head and wants to reply but nothing more than a faint noise emerges before sleep finally takes him.


	5. I need...

The weekend passed quickly and the working week began in earnest. John hadn't seen much of Sherlock. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been up to but it had been the break John needed to get his head together. He missed him a bit. A lot actually. 

John went to bed expecting Sherlock to ask him for his special favour again, especially as it had been four days now but he hasn't heard a thing. This time John has a plan. He'll show some restraint and any arousal he does feel he'll deal with _privately._ Any new feelings he has regarding men, well Sherlock mostly, he'll also deal with _privately._ Taking care of Sherlock doesn't have to be about sex or sexuality; just about a friend helping a friend which was something John very much wanted to do. He isn't convinced he can disconnect enough not to let it affect him at all but he'll handle it differently. He'll definitely keep his clothes on for starters but he knows he'll still get hard. Listening to Sherlock's responses is helpful for the overall aim of making him come and that was thing that always got under his skin; listening to the pleasure of whoever he is with. And god, is Sherlock responsive. 

John hears something thud downstairs. He's nowhere close to being able to sleep, his head full of Sherlock once again, so the thud's a good excuse to check in and maybe talk for a bit. John throws on his dressing gown and ventures downstairs, for some reason he goes quietly. 

He sees Sherlock's bedroom door ajar, there's no light on but he peeks through just to make sure. Sherlock sits on his knees on the turned down bed, completely nude, sliding himself between two bandaged palms. John holds his breath knowing he should walk away but instead he looks closer. Sherlock's hands and hips move in synchronicity but it's the extra interest of a cotton bandage that he's wrapped along his length that catches John's eye. He remembers all too well how it felt himself to have those wrapped hands on his cock, how wonderful the friction felt. He couldn't have taken much before it fell the wrong side of pleasure or before he needed to feel skin on skin. 

John stands, watching, listening and biting his lips to keep his breath quiet should he be caught. Sherlock sighs and strokes the length of himself, tipping his head back and breathing deep. He's still clearing his head, getting himself into the moment and keeping from thinking. John can't quite believe how stunning he looks, it catches him off guard every time, not an ounce of self-consciousness in his whole body. 

But as Sherlock clears his head John's begins to clutter. Why was Sherlock doing this alone? Had he figured out how to bring himself off without any help? Or had John's own panic stopped Sherlock from asking in the first place? _That was it._ John can't believe he's been so stupid, but then finding Sherlock had sacrificed his own daily functioning because of John's feelings wasn't the most likely scenario. He'll leave him for tonight and talk in the morning, John didn't have to be in work until the afternoon so there will be plenty of time to sort Sherlock out. 

He steps away but a treacherous floorboard creaks beneath his foot. "John." Sherlock can see his silhouette in the door way.

"Uh, hello." Oh, crap.

"How long have you been there?"

"Just now." The lie comes out tight and painfully obvious.

"I'm hardly going to be shy, John. I was unaware I was being observed."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, I should have, um." John steps inside and closes the door. He takes off his dressing gown, leaving it on the floor and climbs on the bed. There's just enough light from the street to see his face. "I should have let you know I was still willing to help you, I got a bit self obsessed over the whole thing." John reaches out but Sherlock gently pushes his hand away.

"You don't need to, I'll cope."

"It's alright, I don't mind. I'm your friend and I want to help." John doesn't want Sherlock to go to anyone else. He should at least be with someone he trusts and not some stranger who's going to charge him or someone looking to hold this over his head for their own ends. The very thought alone makes his chest ache. 

"It distresses you, I shouldn't have involved you."

"I'm a big boy and I got stupid about it, you were right, it's all skin and orgasms in the end."

"I can tend- ohhh..." John cuts off Sherlock's sentence by pulling the end of the bandage on his cock, it unspirals rapidly, swiping around the ridge of Sherlock's cock making him shudder and gasp with the glorious strangeness of it all.

"Was that good?" John's mouth is dry and he's astonishingly hard, the rush of drawing that noise and reaction out of Sherlock smothers every rational thought. It doesn't matter though, only one of them would be coming in this room.

"Mmm, do it again, wrap it firm." Sherlock's voice drops a dozen octaves, at least it felt like that in the semi-darkness.

John quickly rewraps Sherlock's erection while trying not to think about having Sherlock do it to him; he just wants to see if he can get the same reaction. He reaches the tip, ready to pull but he's lacking the element of surprise from the first time. He sneaks his spare hand and cheekily holds Sherlock balls while pulling and bandage off again, all in one fluid motion. "Oh! Oh John, that's..."

"Yeah." John tries to remember the routine before he loses his mind. Sherlock was like a drug, there was no preparation good enough, he takes over your body regardless. It was time to start properly now, John starts by stroking up Sherlock's thighs with his fingers like he did the second time John helped. "Are you relaxed and ready?"

"More of your hands." Sherlock whispers, eyes closed. "All over."

John obeys quietly, using fingers and palms up the inside of Sherlock's legs, over his hips and up the length of his torso and down his arms that hung loosely at his sides. John has never been given free reign over Sherlock's body before, the freedom to touch so much of him. Sherlock has his eyes closed as he breathes deeply. John repeats the action again, taking a fresh route, discovering and learning the lines, plains and scars on his lithe body. He keeps his movements slow and purposeful to keep from tickling, watching as his hands fit to Sherlock's form and how he can feel the beat of his heart under his chest. John's fingers slowly trace the shape of his pectorals when an accidental knuckle brushes over a hardened nipple. Sherlock breathes in sharp and John does the same. 

John keeps going, sweeping over shoulders and collar bone, letting himself be entranced by the feel and the heat of Sherlock's skin. They breathe in time, Sherlock becoming more serene as John continues his gentle touches. He slowly travels down to Sherlock's knees again before rising upwards, letting his fingers make a path through the hair at Sherlock's groin and up his stomach. Utterly beautiful, he can't help but savour every inch of him. Ever higher this time until his fingers stray to Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's eyes shoot open almost accusing. 

John pulls away. "Sorry."

Sherlock says nothing and takes John's hands. He replaces them and guides them slowly upwards to his face. Sherlock watches as John's fingers follow the line of his jaw, the rise and fall of chin to his soft bottom lip, his fingers lightly trace a path to sharp cheek bones before John meets Sherlock's eyes again. John removes his touch like he's been scalded. He wants to run, every cell of his body wants to flee, it's too much, he feels caught in a way that's a thousand times worse than peeping at the door.

"John?"

"Sorry."

"Do you want to stop?"

Yes. Yes he does. What was he doing? He's got to leave but he can't bring himself to go, not yet. "Can we do it like the first time, with me behind you?"

"Of course." They move on the bed and John feels the respite of avoiding Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock passes John a bottle of lubricant. "When you're ready." John adjusts himself one more time to keep from poking Sherlock with his erection when he sees something... 

"Is that..." 

"I'll remove it when the time comes."

John bites his lips hard enough to make his eyes water, he was not prepared for how much that sight would affect him. He may have found respite from Sherlock's observation but a new torture awaited him. Of course John knew he'd used toys in his attempts to satisfy himself but knowing that had been there the whole time made John ache. He wants to touch it. 

A sharp pinch to the inside of his own arm helps to refocus on the task at hand. John does as he did that first night, puts lubricant on his hand and firmly strokes from root to tip, coating Sherlock. Something is different, Sherlock is far too quiet. John strokes him again, firmer yet steady, feeling every subtle contour of his prick. Still nothing but one heavy breath. "Is this ok?"

"Perfect, John." He sighs gratefully.

"You're not making any noise."

"I- you would prefer noise?"

"Feedback, I guess."

"Ego stroking." John can hear the smirking challenge in his tone.

"Helpful." John counters, stroking Sherlock once more, this time with a little twist at the end.

"Ohhhh... egotist. Keep going."

John smiles, relaxing in the safety of Sherlock's shadow and grips one more time before cupping his hand over the tip, marvelling at the collection of hot fluid already gathered there. "Have you been able to come since our last time?"

"No. Massage the head now."

John's fingers slide like they have done before, guided by sighs and soft moans. Sherlock moves with the sensation and intentionally tilts the toy inside him. "Yes, lovely, very lovely." John wants to agree but stays quiet, letting his fingers work and keep Sherlock guessing, ever closer to losing his own mind in the process. "Other hand. Testicles, now." 

John can't manage to use both hands without bracing his body against Sherlock's, forehead resting on his back. He has to rely on touch and sound to guide him. A moment of inspiration strikes as John collects the bandage he'd cast aside, loops it over his fingers and experimentally drags it up Sherlock's thighs and towards his balls. 

"Oh you are full of surprises, John Watson." 

Pride swells in John's chest to a near lethal degree as he brushes the underside of Sherlock's tightening sack and begins to rub and roll them with the soft, yet curiously textured material. Sherlock rumbles a groan that rolls on and on with each stroke and caress, filling the room and John's head with nothing but Sherlock. Sherlock's writhing on his knees, caught between three points of pleasure, John's two hands and the toy inside him. John slips his bandaged hand underneath and rubs against Sherlock perineum, "John!" Sherlock's head falls back as he moans gratuitously loudly into the ceiling. "John, John, John."

John fidgets, resisting the urge to touch himself and wishing his body would understand that it would get its turn soon, just in the privacy of his own bedroom and without Sherlock in his bed or head. As if he could ever get Sherlock out of his head. This is about helping. This isn't sex.

"Oh, I can't take much more, make a-"

John already knows what comes next as John makes a fist and lets Sherlock slide himself though. John leans back and watches the toy flex and shift as Sherlock moves. "Oh, oh, oh." He chants each time he cants his hips and into John's hand. John's transfixed and barely notices when he reaches out to touch the protruding object. "Oh god!"

"Shit. Sorry. Sorry."

"Stop apologising and do it again. And don't swear."

John sniggers in dissent and waits for the perfect time to press again. 

"Oh dear god, guhnn. Can't speak."

They find a rhythm of John rocking the plug as Sherlock slides through his hand. John has his forehead on Sherlock's back again and feels their sweat begin to bead. John had no idea what Sherlock must be feeling but it looks amazing. "Can you come from this?"

"Thought I might but," John rocks the plug in a circular motion cutting off Sherlock's sentence. "God nnnugh, take it out," Sherlock rasps, "I need your fingers."

John doesn't even bother to suppress moan at those words, Sherlock's utility was John's bulletproof turn-on. "Ok, hold still." John keeps hold of Sherlock's cock while he eases the toy out slowly. He wishes there's more light for him to see but the noises coming from Sherlock are enough. "Widest part and... there we go." It was very wide indeed, it must have taken ages to work up to taking it all without fingers to prepare. Not unless he had toys for that too. John set the massive thing on the bedside table knowing full well he wouldn't be getting a night's sleep for the rest of the week without seeing it.

"Quickly, John."

"How many fingers?"

"Two is just fine, I need accuracy, not stretch. Hurry, come on."

"Holy fu-" John takes a deep breath as two fingers slip inside Sherlock's lubricated body with ease. Sherlock moves John's hand on his harder-than-ever erection and guides him to a pace. John finds himself enjoying Sherlock doing this with him but he lets John take over after a few seconds.

"Oh, oh needed this, needed you."

John catches the soft smile on his own lips and makes it vanish even though Sherlock can't see him anymore. He keeps his fist moving fast and tight while seeking that sweet spot yet again. "Oh!" Found it. The soft heat and chasing pulse of his orgasm that can't be far away.

"Oh god, nnnuuuhhhgg, yes, oh, oh." Sherlock's losing it quicker than ever and it's a joy to watch. John's doing this, making Sherlock feel so good. "Oh god, oh god, yes."

"That's it, Sherlock, gorgeous."

"Oh, John, I'm- I'm there, oh..." Sherlock tips forward, one arm braced on the bed and another shoots back to grab John's leg, somehow making John feel more a part of the pleasure sparking inside Sherlock's body. John's hand feels the jerk of his cock and his fingers are rendered immobile as they are squeezed tight by Sherlock's internal muscles. "Ohhhh." John can barely breathe, god he's amazing to watch come. With one last final shudder Sherlock's spent. He tips sideways on to his pillow but John's fingers follow him until he can free himself without causing harm. "Ohhhh, that was excellent."

"You needed that more than you let on." John slips his fingers free without the slightest wince from Sherlock. John had to go. Now. 

"It has been trying." Sherlock rolls on to his back completely sated. "Now you. Let me."

"That's alright, I'm going back to my room. I'll see you in the morning." John speaks briskly and gets off the bed before Sherlock or his own need can stop him. Sherlock was offering him service again. This is when he needed to have will power, he had to get out.

"You... of course, John." Sherlock turns away, curling in on himself and pulling the covers over his body.

"Sherlock-" John didn't want to upset him but they couldn't carry on like this. Their friendship can't take the strain. 

"Thank you. You can go."

John leaves without another word. He doesn't understand but right now he has other more pressing concerns. He makes it up the stairs rather awkwardly with one hand already rubbing himself. He's already halfway to coming before he can lie down. He shucks off his pyjama bottoms and pulls up his top just in time- "Ah, fuck, fuck!" It's over too quickly and John immediately regrets his self-indulgence though the relief makes up for it in part. It was the first time they'd were going to fall asleep without each other after one of their sessions. John cleans up and hopes Sherlock will understand, John doesn't need this complication.

The next morning John helps Sherlock with his bandages and they don't speak of last night. They both smile weakly when he tells Sherlock he doesn't need to wear them anymore. 

Last night was their last.


	6. If I just...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brand new to the internets and also the reason why this will be eight chapters, not seven, long. I've not had feedback on it other than my quality control and she's walking funny now, so let me know if you've an opinion to share ;)

John had been ready to head home after another tedious day at work when he'd gotten a text from Molly. _Hi John! Sherlock's said you'd help me get the corpse off the ceiling. He's quite big. Molly H._ After a short, yet enlightening phone call about the surprising effectiveness of duct tape in holding a morbidly obese man to a concrete ceiling, John set off in a taxi to Bart's. John had been hoping to get some blogging done tonight but this would likely take hours knowing Sherlock.

It had been four days since they'd removed Sherlock's bandages. His fingers were still sore looking but there was no risk of infection. Since then John had become acutely attune to Sherlock's movements. So far John hadn't noticed Sherlock was masturbating while he was home. Or rather he _had_ noticed that Sherlock wasn't masturbating while he was home. Not that he was _listening_ or anything but so far Sherlock's either been exhausted, asleep on the sofa or staying up all night working. If he was doing it during the day, John couldn't tell. He suspected he was. John doesn't know if he's happy about that fact or not. It's not really something he should have an opinion about but he's... unsettled. It was supposed to be over now, no more fretting over touching Sherlock, even if it had left an odd legacy that threw his sexuality for a loop.

After a bit of a search John finds Molly in the post-mortem lab. 

"Hi John!" She waves nervously and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry to make you come all this way."

"Not your fault. I don't know why you still let Sherlock in for all the trouble he causes."

"Well you know, he's Sherlock, he likes to do Sherlock-things. Brightens up the day." She shrugs happily.

John senses he's got more in common with Molly than he first thought. Scarily so. "True. So where's our ceiling guy?"

Molly says nothing and points upwards. 

"Ah." How on earth...

"I really don't know how he did it. Something about a case in Bulgaria, the mafia or something."

The body must have been at least eighteen stone and was stuck with masses of tape that only left his feet, nose and eyes exposed. The ceiling was at least twenty feet up. Post-mortem rooms were traditionally large, you really didn't want a rotting corpse in a confined space. "He must have had help. And some scaffolding."

"I'll call maintenance shall I?" She has a quick look at her watch and pulls a face. "They might have gone home though."

"Give them a ring. Where is the madman?"

"Oh, he left a few minutes ago. He got cross about something and said he needed to clear his head."

_Clear his head._

"And he just left you with a man taped to your ceiling?" It barely needs to be a question, of course Sherlock left it to them to clean up. John knew exactly what he'd gone to do.

"Well I don't think he worked out what he was expecting to, he probably would have helped-"

"No he wouldn't." John's getting more and more irritated.

"It's just his way." She shrugs politely.

"Not tonight its not. He's not buggering off leaving us with... that. I'm going to find him. Maybe he can explain how he got the poor sod up there." John was finding the dead man's stare rather disturbing. 

"Wouldn't be surprised if he'd gone though."

"I'll find him. If he put him up there he can bloody help get him down."

"You're very strict! Bet you were like that in the army, all in charge." She lets out a high pitched giggle before cutting herself off and fidgeting nervously. 

"I was less irate." John eases her discomfort, after all, he did like her in a brotherly way. Terrible taste in men mind, but John can't exactly hold her judgement against her right now. John had an idea of one place Sherlock could be and he had every intention of dragging him back. If he could wait days to have a wank he could wait an hour to peel a man of the bloody roof before disappearing. "I'll be back in fifteen."

"If you don't I'll send a search party, probably kidnapped again!" She laughs nervously again.

"I'll be extra careful." He winks before he dashes to the door. He needs to find Sherlock. "It's bloody Mycroft who's the worst anyway." 

"Those Holmes's, I'll go make that call now. I think they've got a scissor lift somewhere, I don't know how they might have gotten it in here."

John sets off towards the elevator while taking out his phone. He considers writing a text but he doesn't send it. If he lets Sherlock know he's looking for him he might scarper and John didn't care what he was up to, he couldn't leave corpses on the sodding ceiling and expect him and Molly to deal with it. He starts his quick walk to the ground level annex. It was quite a way, it was built thirty years ago and wasn't really fit for purpose. The heating had never worked and the place always smelt of damp. 

Lestrade had once told John that Sherlock would occasionally hide stuff in an unused storeroom and smuggle it out when people weren't paying attention. It was usually expensive medical or scientific implements he fancied but he also had a stash of nicotine patches and cigarettes hidden away. Lestrade used to steal the cigarettes and replace them with menthols just to piss Sherlock off. Of course Sherlock had responded by lacing one pack of cigarettes with a substance that had certain embarrassing... side effects which Lestrade didn't wish to speak about. John wondered if it was about then that he gave up smoking.

The annex seems completely empty but then it's well after six in the evening and most people have gone home. The dusty lights are on so perhaps Sherlock's down here. John walks slowly down the corridor, keeping his footsteps quick but quiet. He'll find him and drag him back; if it spoils his fun all the better. John passes a few rooms, pushing the swing doors open before moving on. When he finds a staff toilet he doesn't try the handle but puts his ear to the door instead. Nothing. 

He keeps walking, turning down an unlit offshoot of the main corridor which feels a little eerie. He places a palm on one of the doors, easing it carefully open and... oh god.

He _hears_ him. The slightest sound but he _knows_ that it's Sherlock and he _knows_ what he's doing. Right, that's enough, Sherlock can finish later. John walks in, guided only by the fading light streaming though the dirty windows. The room is a maze of shelves and boxes. John stays quiet so he can follow the sound of Sherlock's heavy breathing and stifled grunts of exertion. If John alerts him to his presence he could still slip away, he'll have prepared away to leave the room if he was interrupted. John's doing his best to listen but not take in the sounds. Sherlock's much quieter than he would be at home but the association was engrained.

A few more silent steps and there he was. John's plan to give Sherlock a rollicking combusted. Sherlock was standing with his head resting against the wall, trousers and underwear around his ankles. He's completely vulnerable with his arse pushed out as he curves his spine for access. He's only wearing one of his fitted dark grey shirts as he huffs gently, his hand moving fast on his concealed prick. John can hear the slightly wet slick slap of his stroking, he had lubricant with him, but John's not focusing on the movement of that particular hand. He's focused on Sherlock's long legs, spread as far as they can and his other hand, a _gloved_ hand, that's rocking between his buttocks.

John realises he's just standing and watching so sidesteps behind another row of shelves, keeping Sherlock in sight between gaps in the boxes. He needs a second to collect himself. God the way he looks, what he's doing- 

"Oh..." Sherlock sighs and his thighs quiver. John's whole body does the same. His moans are barely loud enough to hear as the latex-covered hand between his cheeks forces itself deeper, twisting round as much as his wrist will allow. John knows he should leave or follow through with his plan but he's never going to get to see this again. 

He keeps watching and listening. The three fingers Sherlock hasn't buried inside himself rub and squeeze his arse before settling again as he pushes in deep and rumbles a groan. Sherlock presses the side of his face against the cold wall, growling again as he does something inside his arse that John knows he's done himself. John can almost feel Sherlock snug around his two fingers and guiltily squeezes them with his other hand just to remind himself of how it felt. 

John's long gone now, hard and biting his lips together to keep quiet. Releasing his fingers he adjusts his erection but refuses to properly touch. He's seen Sherlock like this before, not exactly, but it's not completely new. Or wrong. John closes his eyes and rubs himself with as much shame as he deserves. It was very, very wrong but he can't help himself. Sherlock's entrancing, the way he's pushing his hips out rhythmically in beautiful time with his whole body. 

Then there's that glove. John wonders if Sherlock likes the feel of latex as Sherlock's little finger strokes and presses at his plump flesh. He's wearing it to keep his hand clean... John suddenly realises he's probably wearing one on his other hand too and has to close his eyes to calm himself again. There's so much to watch, the glove's friction is making his arse move in new ways as he rocks, the rubber catching and pulling against his bare cheeks. John covers his own mouth, he's breathing so hard it's audible. Luckily Sherlock's panting and muttering even louder as he begins to build his orgasm. 

John can see the door from where he's hiding, he should go but he just can't bring himself to move. Sherlock's squirming on his fingers and jerking more vigorously than before, desperately chasing his climax. John can see the tension in him, how badly he wants to come. John looks away. He can't interrupt now, not when he's so close. John missed his window and Sherlock would probably swing for him if he stops him now. That and if John makes himself known he's not sure he can stop himself 'helping' again. It's difficult knowing Sherlock doesn't need him that way anymore. 

He's got to leave before Sherlock finishes. One last look and John's torn. Sherlock's thrusting back on to his covered fingers like he's lost between his own particular massage and roughly fucking himself for the sheer pleasure of it. He's struggling to stay quiet and any second he could turn around. It's too risky. John quietly creeps away. He goes slowly, hoping he can hear him come before he leaves but there's no excuse to hang around any longer. He slips out of the door and walks away. 

John looks down at himself once he reaches the lit part of the corridor. He can't go back upstairs like this and his erection isn't going to go away on its own. He dashes back to the toilet he passed and locks himself inside. Damn, the toilet doesn't have a lid, he'll have to stand. He needs to get this over with quickly. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" John fumbles with his trousers, he can't get them down quick enough. He grabs himself and sets a brutal rhythm. 

"Yes." John confirms as he slumps against the bathroom wall, wadding up some tissues in preparation as he doesn't plan on stringing this out. He tries to think of the last woman he was with but he thinks of Sherlock, his mind is back on the glove. It was surprising and exciting, yet efficient and clinical. John can't imagine not feeling that instant heat as he pushes, _used to push,_ inside Sherlock, but the thought that Sherlock might enjoy the feel was bringing him to the edge. "Fucking... fuck..." John's legs wobble but he keeps himself propped up as he carries on.

He wonders if it was better now Sherlock was doing it for himself? Would he have minded if John had made his presence known? He didn't mind that last night. John pictures himself walking up to Sherlock, his own latex covered hand removing Sherlock's and slipping inside his already slick hole and finding his prostate with unerring accuracy. Sherlock would say his name and smile, knowing he was taken care of now, that he'd be coming soon. 

John sees himself press up against the back of Sherlock, telling him to relax and come on the wall, telling him how fucking amazing and fucking gorgeous he looks when he's wanking. John's hand comes to a halt and he thuds his head back into the wall with frustration. This was just a fantasy, it's ok he tells himself. A harmless fantasy. He'd feel better if he could think of some anonymous bloke to countenance this new side of himself, but it has to be Sherlock. The same Sherlock who's currently in the same state if he hasn't finished already. He could be leaning against the wall, peeling off those gloves that are covered in lube and come... John starts to stroke again, slow and more slickly now. 

It isn't as if John hasn't experimented over the last few days. In the shower John's imagined another man stepping under the spray with him but whenever he tried to picture someone they always morphed into Sherlock or said some Sherlockian quip that made John smile against his will. They always had long, dextrous fingers, dark hair and were always annoyingly taller than him. He even tried thinking of celebrities but his cock was forever flaccid in his hand. 

Not now though. Now his mind was full of Sherlock caught between his two hands but this time he was making all the sounds that John had drawn out of him before. Sherlock had spotted him, beckoned him over and pulled John's hand to join his on his cock. They would stroke together, both of their eyes locked on the sight of their hands working, gripping just right but with John's thumb straying for extra stimulation. "God, that's it." 

John's legs almost fail him again, he never does this while standing, but it's feeling so good and he can't make it last any longer. With Sherlock completely naked and coming in his fantasy John gives in to the building feelings and strokes hard and fast... _"Sherlock."_ John has to take a hand off his cock to hold himself up and pushes the tissues to himself as he comes. It's messy and sloppy but John lets his cock pulse into his palm until he's soft and mostly satisfied. "Bollocks." He'd made a bit of a hash of that at the end. Sherlock's had more practice at least.

By the time John cleans himself up and washes his hands he leaves just in time to catch Sherlock trying to leave. "Oi! There's a corpse on a ceiling with your name on it! Don't pretend you don't hear me!" 

John catches up with him and drags him to the morgue despite his protests that he needs to check out a fetish club in Brighton. They both act like nothing has happened but the whole walk over John's plagued with one thought: he'd said Sherlock's name as he came.


	7. A Decision

John had woken with a significant hangover and a half empty bottle of whiskey the morning after the Bart's escapade. Significant enough to make sure he never did anything that stupid again. Maybe he can't completely restrain his thoughts but he can bloody stop spying on the man and getting all worked up at the sight of him. He was caught off guard and found himself treading dangerous territory once again. He'd gotten a grip now. As far as he and Sherlock went things were practically back to normal and it hadn't been dull either. 

A week after the duct tape case and just before Sherlock started itching for something to do, he got a call from Lestrade about three mutilated bodies found in a houseboat in the Thames. John had built up two days worth of time off and wasn't going to pass this up. Now, thirty eight hours and one exploded yacht club meeting house later, they are just leaving the police station. They walk to the pavement in a fit of giggles.

"I can't believe you said that!" John waves his arm for a cab but it passes straight by them. It's getting late and a bit cold, he doesn't want to be stood out here for long. A hot shower and bed beckons.

"I've said worse." Sherlock's got a small, prideful smile on his face. 

"The look on his face was priceless, wish I'd taken a picture."

"He had it coming." 

"Well I guess I should thank you for defending my honour against a random police officer I've never met before but I really wasn't worried." It had been nice all the same, Sherlock could emasculate a man for sport and that was a particularly impressive display. How he knew the officer had been breast fed until he was seven was remarkable. And, from the look of embarrassment on his face, very true. 

"He called you a trumped up twat groupie."

"Yes, I did hear him thank you very much." He doesn't need to hear it again. "He was just annoyed that you were right." John waves his hand again and a black cab pulls over. Lucky night.

"You noticed the paint under her nails was a different shade of cream but yes, it was mostly my doing."

"I'm going to pretend you only said the first half of that sentence. Thank you."

They climb inside and tell the driver to take them to Baker Street. As John settles in his seat the atmosphere changes. Sherlock's finished a case and the taxi ride home is when he starts to unwind and relax. This is a test of John's resolve which he knows from experience is pitifully weak. John wants to see if his hand is on his leg already but forces some restraint and stares out the window. He chastises himself, this is ridiculous, especially after the whole spying debacle. 

It feels like too much. He shouldn't be wishing satisfying Sherlock was still his job, he shouldn't be remembering what it felt like the last time they were in a cab after a case, how Sherlock had whispered words into his ear and made him lose control. He understood that he hadn't been prepared for it to end so suddenly, the burns were supposed to last longer, but he'd taken such bloody good care of them due to his fussing that they weren't in bad nick. Why can't he let this go?

Sherlock takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. He's on the other side of the car but it might as well have been down the back of John's neck from the way his hairs stand on end. John can't help but shift enough to have a sly look out the corner of his eye. John sees exactly what he imagined, Sherlock's hands doing _that_ massage on his leg. John looks away sharply, trying to focus on the shops and people outside but god if he's not already getting hard without a touch. Maybe it wouldn't be wrong if he was involved one more time, the same rules would apply as before and John wouldn't have to feel guilty. It couldn't hurt. 

John lets his head thud against the cold window, he really was losing it. There was no reason to slide over there and take over. No reason other than _he wants to._ No reason because right now he didn't care that Sherlock was a man, he hadn't felt like this about anyone ever. A part of Sherlock was off limits to him again and it was driving him mad. He's jealous of Sherlock's own hands for crying out loud! 

If John was honest with himself the dreams had been getting more vivid and more intense. They would start with Sherlock's routine but slowly Sherlock would take liberties. Moving so their legs touched, a hand on John's, leaning back into him and almost purring from the contact. John would do the same, a brush of lips against the nape of Sherlock's neck, a gratuitous grope Sherlock hadn't instructed or a murmured compliment until they both couldn't resist letting go and went for each other. Each time he'd woken up to find himself hard and rocking against the duvet or mattress. Last night he took himself in hand and imagined Sherlock instructing him on how to get himself off, telling John how good he looked and how much it turned him on to see him pleasure himself. He didn't say Sherlock's name but it doesn't count when you're biting a pillow. 

It wasn't just the sexual dreams either. During the mornings when Sherlock was up, he'd have to resist the urge to ruffle his uncombed hair as he passed him his tea. The old rules and boundaries of their friendship have been shattered and John longs to touch. Still, it was _Sherlock_ of all people. Brilliant, infuriating, wonderful Sherlock, his friend. His _male_ friend. Though from how John's body keeps responding that's mattering less and less.

Even if John thought that they could continue their arrangement, where would it lead? Fantasising about more and actually _doing_ more were worlds apart. John isn't sure how much he can give even if Sherlock is open to the idea of carrying on. Losing control had felt great in the moment but there had always been a morning after drenched in confusion and doubt. 

But it was starting to run deeper than that now. How he feels for Sherlock had always been different compared to any other friendship and now Sherlock has this sexual element that was making John want to push once again, control slipping through his fingers. 

John braves a peek. The sneaky bugger must have been waiting for John to turn because he's looking right at him, eyelids heavy and lips full. Gorgeous. John can't stand it, he wants one more time. Sherlock had enjoyed it, he wouldn't turn him down. It could be something they do every now and then. He slides across and slips his hand onto Sherlock's leg only to find a hand wrapped around his wrist and Sherlock's eyes blazing at his. 

"No."

"Uh...oh, ok. Sorry." John goes to slide away but Sherlock won't release his wrist. "Sher-" 

"I don't need you."

"I just... just thought it...." John's mouth dries up and Sherlock eyes won't leave him alone. John can't move, Sherlock's grip on his wrist seems to have paralysed his whole body. "Just forget it. Stupid idea." 

"What do you _want,_ John?" Sherlock speaks firmly but there's something else there that John can't place. 

John shakes his head like he doesn't understand but he understands all too well. "I..." The words won't come out, even the air in his chest sticks in his throat. _He wants Sherlock._ Everything, not just this. The realisation makes his heart pound so hard his chest hurts. He still doesn't know if Sherlock wants more too, more than just skin and orgasms.

Sherlock moves closer like he's going to kiss him and John licks his lips in anticipation. He can do this, he can kiss a man if it's Sherlock, but he stops short. John's scared he's read this wrong but he still can't move. "Make a decision, John." His voice practically rumbles, low enough that only John can hear.

"You... you said you don't want me." 

"No, I said I don't _need_ you. Wanting is another matter completely. You've run out of time to have your little sexuality crisis, choose."

John chooses. He closes the distance and meets Sherlock's lips, trying to hide his nerves with bravado he's familiar with. There, oh. It's oddly chaste, like Sherlock doesn't want to scare John off or is waiting for him to change his mind and pull away. He's letting John set the pace and for that he's silently thankful. Sherlock gently reciprocates, moving delicately against John but god knows how many teasing minutes John's ready for more, he wants more. He twists his wrist free to take Sherlock's hand in his and Sherlock sighs against him. That makes John brave again. John's other hand finds Sherlock's neck as the tip of his tongue flicks at Sherlock's top and bottom lip. Sherlock opens his mouth to John, letting their tongues meet and tangle for the first time, and finally the pace of the kiss picks up. Sherlock's confidence rises as he pulls John closer still, holding the back of his head and taking John's mouth.

John's not in control anymore. He's never been kissed like this. Sherlock's tongue moves slower than it did on his cock but with no less careful and fervent attention. Exploring, tasting, teasing and bloody wonderful. John tussles back, trying to give as good as he gets, making sure Sherlock doesn't regret this.

"Oi, no shagging in the cab!" Shouts the cab driver with a bang on the partition. They break their kiss with muffled laughter. "We're almost there, calm it down."

"Do you really want this, John?" He whispers, still not letting John free of his grasp. 

"Yeah. I do." John rests his forehead against Sherlock's. The nagging ache he's been carrying around since their last time has lifted. As much as he's terrified, he wants to be right here. "Jesus, you think I would have noticed if I liked men by now, I was in the sodding army for god's sake."

"Not men. Me." Sherlock smiles as he draws him into another kiss, John letting Sherlock plunder his mouth for all he is worth. 

"Oh for fucks sake." Mutters the driver who goes ignored as John discovers what it's like to passionately snog Sherlock Holmes after a case, one hand gripping his hair so he can't escape and the other one resting against his chest right above his pounding heart. 

John was flying high, it was even more exhilarating than that first night and he had even less idea where this might lead. The occasional scratch of stubble reminds him of exactly who he is with but the doubt was dead. Well almost. It definitely wasn't in charge anymore and John could live with that. Kissing a man was definitely different but it wasn't worse, something about kissing Sherlock was much better in fact. John fingers undo one of Sherlock's buttons and find their way under his collar, seeking out every bit of skin John can reach. He needs more, it's not enough.

"Oi, lovebirds, you're here." The taxi driver gruffs, quite glad to be getting rid of his amorous passengers.

"Uh, thanks." John mumbles, still not quite in control of his swollen lips. Sherlock throws enough money at him to stop him shouting something crude as they leave. Without looking back they head up to the flat. 

The front door slams shut leaving them both standing in the dark of the hallway. Neither of them say a word. No words are needed though as they come together again, Sherlock more strongly as he backs John against the door and sets to work tearing John's coat off and casting it to the floor. John does the same, not stopping from kissing Sherlock, his new addiction. He knows the exact location of, and method to stroke, Sherlock's prostate but he didn't know how he liked to be kissed. Relentlessly apparently, like their lives depend on it.

Sherlock lifts off John's jumper and kisses him hard again before he starts on John's shirt buttons. He pulls back a fraction to speak and John takes the opportunity to heave air into his lungs. "Is this too much? We can slow down."

"No, no, keep going." John rocks his hips forward to rub himself against Sherlock drawing explicit noises out of them both. If John stops now he'll start thinking and he really, really doesn't want to do that right now, not when he's this hard.

"God John, I want to devour you." Sherlock dives to John's neck licking, sucking, nipping as John's knees wobble.

"Go ahead."

"You have no idea." Sherlock smiles against John's neck and keeps going, hands everywhere. John's left to just grab at Sherlock's hair as John's stripped from the waist up. Sherlock breaks the kiss again to watch his hands traverse John's chest and stomach. John's dreams were nothing compared to this. "Since the first time John, I've wanted so much more. Waiting for you to come to your senses has been hell."

"Really?" 

"That night, your fingers inside me, your hand fast on my cock. You licked my back and I came, that was the moment I wanted you." He almost growls as he steals John's mouth again, taking John's breath with him. Devoured is the only word John can think as he tries to rid Sherlock of his shirt too but Sherlock's barely giving him room to reach the buttons. "Then feeling you rut against my leg like a primitive animal, so _base_ John, I'll never forget it."

"I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't, you gave in to what you wanted, what felt good." Sherlock slips his hand down and sinuously rubs John's cock through his trousers while licking at John's earlobe. John forgets about Sherlock's buttons and just holds onto Sherlock's shoulders. "Masturbating never felt like that before, _sex_ has never felt like that before," Sherlock pants into John's ear only enhancing what Sherlock was doing with his hand, "everything you did was different, better, my body, in my head. _John._ " Sherlock finishes with a growl and dives towards John's neck, rapidly sucking and tasting. "I wanted to cut off my hands so you could never stop. Dip them in acid, cut them to shreds, crush every bone so I could keep you."

"God, tha' mi..." John tries to say something about that being excessive but he can't speak as Sherlock's hand squeezes his cock and cups his balls. It's only the fact he hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours that he isn't coming there and then. He's not far off though.

John's riding Sherlock's will now, letting him sate himself. John knows now that he's been holding back all this time and finally Sherlock had free reign. The dam has been broken and John's willing to be washed away if that's what it takes to feel this alive. 

Sherlock kisses his way back along John's jaw, cheek and to his mouth, in tongue first. John can't stand up for much longer, not with Sherlock nibbling at his bottom lip every now and then and that tongue making him weak. "Bed." John demands against Sherlock's lips and tongue. They've been there before though never like this.

"Yes." 

Sherlock removes his hand from John's groin as they peel themselves off the door. Finally John can get rid of that damn expensive shirt of Sherlock's. He wants to see all of him again, this time without restraint. John tugs it down Sherlock's arms and throws the material to the ground. "Bloody thing."

"I'll never wear clothes again."

John laughs but Sherlock muffles it with more kissing as they stumble inelegantly towards Sherlock's room, belts unbuckle, trousers are stepped out of along with toed off shoes and socks and more stumbling. "Ah, bugger." John curses as he bangs his left heel against the doorframe. No time to feel pain with Sherlock's backing him towards the bed, doing away with each other's underwear at the same time. "Oh god." Being naked feels different this time, more exposed than ever. Sherlock's free to touch him and god John wants him everywhere. 

They fall to the bed, Sherlock on all fours above him, looking at John with unabashed lust with his cock hanging heavy from his groin. John's not entirely sure what happens now. Before he had Sherlock's direction to follow but there were no boundaries now, no plan. He feels a little panicked. There's probably a few things he's going to need some time to think about beforehand. A lot of time. Oh god.

"Don't worry, we won't do anything you don't want." Sherlock says all to knowingly as he holds John's jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek.

"I wasn't worrying." John lies, turning his head momentarily to lick the tip of Sherlock's thumb to distract him. That's a different noise from Sherlock, half way between and sigh and a grunt, definitely one to hear again and again. 

But Sherlock's got that flame in his eye that usually means trouble when he removes his hand from John's face and runs it up the inside of his leg towards his arse - John stops him with a hand on Sherlock's forearm, "Ok, yes, I was thinking about that but I wasn't worrying!" Not really, it was just a bit... confronting. He just needs time to get used to things but he's ready to start, he wants Sherlock.

"Of course not." Sherlock smirks but then small kisses across John's chest brings John back to what they are actually doing. He threads his hands into Sherlock's hair, there's something about those curls that make them so unbelievably tactile and gorgeous, before running his palms down his back and stroking a finger across the very spot he licked that first night. Sherlock breath alters as he realises what John's doing and responds with an open mouth on a nipple. John jolts with the new spark that shoots straight between his legs, "God, Sherlock." 

John tries to reach to touch Sherlock's erection but he's too far away. He wants Sherlock on him, to kiss him and feel everything but Sherlock keeps going, kissing down John's stomach, the hand he's not balancing on running up the outside of his thigh and over his hip. A wonderful flood of sensation sweeps him along. It's then that John realises their position is intentional, he's calming John, stopping him from thinking about everything else in the world and making it just about the two of them. No, more than that, he's making it all about John.

"Come here, I want to kiss you." John was happy for him to set the pace before now but right now he was achingly hard and needs to be wrapped in Sherlock.

"I'm planning on kissing you elsewhere." Sherlock places a sucking kiss to the bottom of John's thick cock before licking the length of him. "Mmmm..."

"Oh, oh my god." John's plans vanish, his eyes firmly on Sherlock's next move. He's already close to the edge. 

"I remember your taste." Sherlock's breathy words tingle along the length of where he licked. "Ambrosia." Sherlock grips him firmly and swirls his tongue right under the head of John's cock, grey eyes fixed on John. He can't look away, Sherlock not just licking but brushing his wet lips against him, running the very tip inside his impossibly velvety top lip and smooth teeth before sucking him softly.

"Sher... oh god...god." John gasps, words failing him. 

Sherlock's massaging him with his mouth and those full lips as Sherlock's hand strokes him briskly. It's good, too good, that tongue licking again, John's almost...

"Fuck, stop." John digs his nails into his palm, he doesn't want to come yet. The sensations were almost overwhelming. Oh god, climbing back from that potentially amazing orgasm is torture.

Sherlock jerks back, bitter disappointment on his face. "Fine. I'll-"

"No, no! Come here," John says urgently, his arms reaching out for Sherlock, "I need you up here and on me, not ready to come yet. God, get on me." Sherlock eagerly climbs back up leaning down to kiss but John knocks away Sherlock's elbows and pushes his knees so he falls neatly between John's legs. A quick adjustment and... "Oh god." John's cock slides against another man's for the first time, against _Sherlock's_ for the first time. 

"Yes, good." Sherlock agrees with another more calculated, graceful roll of his hips, "Oh, very good." His voice quivers. 

"Like this." John could cope with this. It's not too much and it feels bloody marvellous. "Make me come like this." 

"Yes, yes, yes."

They move together, kissing, moaning, whispering names and encouragement. Sherlock grinds against him firmer still. It's different, every stroke against him is new and nothing but pleasure. John clings to Sherlock's back, hooks his legs around Sherlock's calves so they're entwined as much as they can be. No distance, no separation like the other times; this has to be different. Not about one or the other, but both of them at the same time. 

"Take anything you want, John."

"Nnngh, I have it." John struggles out brokenly, still grinding, trying to feel Sherlock and the sheer newness of what he's doing, that thrill. "Have... ah, god." John doesn't finish the sentence properly but they both know it ends with 'you'.

John can't remember feeling like this before, the slow build inside of him, so unrelenting and overwhelming. They both move faster now, John's grabs Sherlock's arse as he grinds upwards in sync, their cocks slide haphazardly but it's going to be enough. "Sherlock, don't stop, don't stop, oh god." John pants into the crook of Sherlock's shoulder, careful not to swear.

"John, fingers, touch, touch my- oh!" John surges at Sherlock's instruction and buries a finger between Sherlock's buttocks to press a dry finger up against his entrance. Sherlock reflexively clenches and the memory of the tightness on John's fingers is almost enough... 

"Sherlock, so close. Tell me, tell me what you want."

Sherlock slips a hand between them, bringing their pre-come slick cocks together. John's body seizes for a moment at the acute grip, it's wonderful as Sherlock moves them together. "Just this, keep touching me there, circles, press down, in, oh, perfect John." 

Sherlock's steady pace quickens to bring them right back to where they were, both of them trying to find a rhythm with their hips. John's still stroking at Sherlock's entrance, enough to tease the tip of his finger inside and make Sherlock shudder and gasp. He can't reach Sherlock's prostate from this angle but neither of them want to stop what they're doing, he'll make sure Sherlock is taken care of but right now John needs to let go and come. 

Sherlock's grip tightens as he groans John's name and the friction is too wonderful, John turns his head to find Sherlock's mouth and a few more strokes... he's there, his whole body coils as he climaxes, shuddering and shaking, he grips on to Sherlock for dear life as it snaps inside him. Sherlock's still working him, spreading come between them and it only takes John higher, making him cry out Sherlock's name with the sheer magnificence of what's happening inside him.

Gradually Sherlock slows to a stop, saving John's oversensitivity. John's muscles eventually begin to slacken as the glow spreads and settles through him. John's heart feels ready to explode and he's trembling. "Bloody hell." 

"Mmmph." Sherlock mumbles. "Dear god, I think I'm dead." He rests his whole weight on John, his head in the pillow and kisses the bit of John's neck he can reach.

"What a way to go." John slowly registers what Sherlock said wriggles slightly to find that Sherlock's not hard anymore and they're very, very damp. "Wait... you came already?"

"Shut up, I think I lasted admirably, a few seconds longer than you." John goes to say that wasn't what he meant when Sherlock continues. "I felt you come, twitching against my cock and my hand, it was more than enough to make me climax."

If John hadn't been on his feet for the last two days solid that might have been enough to start round two. But for now sleep is calling and it would have to wait until morning. "I didn't think you..."

"Don't think, John, it's stupid to think." 

"Too right." John shifts Sherlock a little to the side so he can breathe properly again. There's nothing to hand to clean up but he's content to lie there with Sherlock in his arms for a little while. He had Sherlock, nothing else matters. There's still much that scares John, he knows, but not doing this scares him more. He'll work it out as he goes along, that attitude hasn't failed him yet.

They lay for a few more minutes before Sherlock speaks up. "John." 

"Yeah?"

"What we just did."

"Yeah?"

"That really was quite gay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We started with a request and ended with a decision. I was editing this right up to posting, I really hope it hasn't disappointed. I'm happy and John's just a little bit gay. Gay enough for Sherlock anyway ;)
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has left a comment or kudos, I can't believe how lovely the response has been to this story, especially as it was only ever meant to be one chapter long. Then John said tomorrow and all hell broke loose ;) It really has been heartening and every email notification has made me feel just wonderful. Thanks to La Kalla too whose feedback really helped this final chapter, god I hope you like it!
> 
> A bonus chapter to come, panties on full alert for that one ;)


	8. Plans

John's feeling edgy. It had only been three weeks since he decided that he wasn't as straight as he thought when Sherlock was offered a series of murders that he couldn't turn down. Three men and four women had been killed in a facility dealing with psychological testing in Munich. The victims were from different trials but Sherlock had seen something in one of the photographs he was supplied with that excited him. John couldn't get the time off work to follow Sherlock to Germany so had taken one last, deep kiss before he was gone. 

Sherlock had only been gone four days but John's going insane missing the lunatic. The flat's too quiet and his body too cold and too untouched. It isn't just the sex either, it's the way Sherlock would stand close to him as he makes dinner, a brush across his shoulders as he types, a hand to the small of his back when they're out. Even now, just buttering some toast, Sherlock would wrap his arms around John's waist, nuzzle into his neck and tell him how his scent was changing into a mixture of them both. God he misses that contact. And the sex. He _really_ misses the sex. 

They hadn't gone much further than touching and lots of very lovely friction. As far as John's sexuality crisis he was still wrapping his head around being in a homosexual relationship. Apart from having sex with Sherlock he didn't 'feel' gay. But then he isn't sure what 'gay' is supposed to feel like. He was physically and emotionally attracted to Sherlock who, unlike anyone else he's fallen for in the past, just happens to have a cock. Eventually John stopped trying to work it out and just let it be. It was around the same time Sherlock had treated him to one of his full body massages with a very happy ending.

There had only been one blip. He'd had one morning where the gravity of what he was doing seemed to swallow him whole. Every sexual experience John had before Sherlock revolved around women but Sherlock had changed everything. There were certain things you could only attempt with a man. What if he couldn't do everything expected of him? John didn't mind not being in charge some times, he was happy letting a woman lead, but the _acts..._ Everything was moving too fast, even if Sherlock had promised to take things at John's pace. He went down stairs to talk to Sherlock who strode up to him, grabbed his face and kissed him soundly against the wall. As John's body leapt in response it didn't seem to matter what he thought he could handle. He was safe in Sherlock's hands and god he fancied the pants off him. When John had asked what the kiss was about Sherlock said, "you looked like you needed a good snogging." That was it, John could cope again.

John made the decision the night before Sherlock left that he was ready to take things further. After pushing a third finger into Sherlock and whispering that he wanted to be inside him they'd gotten too carried away and never quite got round to the main event. Sherlock had made a promise for the next night but then Germany happened and plans were put on hold. 

John's mind was wandering again as he makes his cup of tea. He thought of the morning after they first officially fallen into bed together. Sherlock had treated him to that 'proper' blow job after John had summoned up the courage to ask. John hadn't returned the favour yet, but he's more worried about not being good than the mechanics. And god, Sherlock was good. Even just thinking about that gorgeous yet torturous hour spent at the mercy of Sherlock's mouth, brought to the edge over and over, on the brink of screaming until Sherlock had tilted his head just so and... "Fuck." John was hard again. "You better bloody get your arse back here soon, Sherlock. I'm a bloody walking hat rack." 

~~~*~~~

With every minute of his bus ride home from work he's hoping Sherlock will be home waiting for him, possibly naked. Even if he'd just fallen asleep John would quite happily creep in beside him and hold him close, definitely naked. God he was bored, even sleeping next to Sherlock had to be more entertaining than his current existence. The old woman next to him blew her nose in the loudest and most bubbling way possible and John's stomach turns. Sherlock's looking like the only remedy. Fortune's on John's side as his phone vibrates in his pocket. 

_Video call. Now. I'm done. SH_

Relief. John's smile feels like one he hasn't worn since Sherlock had left. His whole body tenses with sexual energy and he's itching for Sherlock. He isn't home but he's done. 

_Bored out of my mind and on the bus. Ten minutes from home. JW_

John could just imagine Sherlock's frustration because it matches his own. Ten minutes is going to feel like a lifetime. 

_Get out and run. SH_

John laughs under his breath. He's tempted but it's raining and miserable outside. 

_Believe me, I want to. JW_

If Sherlock was done with the case then he was wanting to relax and sleep and for that he needed to come. Sherlock had sought to John to do that. John smiles again. Sherlock wasn't taking care of himself. Although it was hardly appropriate on the bus with some old woman sat next to him, John begins to text again.

_Are you touching yourself yet? Massaging your thigh? Getting relaxed? JW_

John tries to calm himself by staring at the chewing gum patterns on the floor but he isn't seeing anything but Sherlock squeezing and rubbing his own leg in the back of an anonymous taxi while John watches on. He clasps his phone tight waiting for a reply.

_I want you to touch yourself this time._

God. 

_Crowded bus. Don't think the old woman next to me would appreciate it. Nice thought though._

John wishes he'd taken a taxi home or maybe gotten out and run, he'd be home by now and watching Sherlock, hearing him, undressing for him. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't have minded him shivering and wet from the rain, John could warm up with a towel, drying himself all over... John cuts that train of thought off, not thoughts for the bus. 

_Hand on your leg John, squeeze it in time with your breathing, no one will know. SH_

Fuck. Sherlock's really not helping. John has to clear his throat and adjust how he's sitting. He can't, surely not here? One hand finds his leg. He squeezes gently with each inhale and releases as he exhales. It's an odd mix of sensations as his body becomes both less tense but heightened at the same time. His phone vibrates again.

_Are you doing it? SH_

One more squeeze and a sneaky rub with his thumb, John texts back. 

_Yes._

There's not much else to say. John knows what he's doing and what it means to both of them.

 _I have plans for you, John._

John shifts his briefcase across his lap. Almost home. Another vibration.

_The moment you get home get your laptop, undress and lay on your side on my bed. There is lube under my pillow._

Bloody hell. Oh yes, anything. Why wouldn't the bus fucking hurry up? John needed to be home already, this was torture. 

_I want to see you too. Almost home._

One street to go. Come on, come on, come on. Bloody rush hour traffic and road works.

_You can see me but you'll do everything I say._

John presses the bell for his stop and tries to get off the bus without anyone noticing he's hard as a rock. It's only a quick, slightly awkward walk around the corner to the flat and although the key seems to be fighting him rather than getting in the lock he gets inside. He throws his things in the hallway, grabs his laptop from the living room and goes through to Sherlock's room. He hasn't been in here since Sherlock left but the bed is neatly made and inviting. He opens the laptop and starts it up as he undresses. 

The room's a little cold but he'll warm up soon enough. By the time he's shed his boxers and socks his laptop is ringing with a video call request. Knowing it's best to follow instructions, especially from Sherlock, he lays on his side with the laptop angled far enough away for Sherlock to see him from the hips up. He accepts the call.

Sherlock's not undressed, he's wearing a crisp white shirt and he's not in bed either. He's sat at a table in his hotel room looking pretty much as normal. John knows better than to be disappointed though, Sherlock has _plans._ "Hello."

"No." Sherlock says flatly.

"What's wrong?" 

"Move the laptop closer, I just want to see your face."

"Ok then." John does as he's instructed, moving the other pillows off the bed and filling the screen with his face. Now he wants to get started. "God, Sherlock, wish you were here."

"I am. Did you get aroused on the bus?"

"Yes," John's almost shy, "why do these things seem like a good idea when you suggest it?"

"I'm just that good and you, John Watson, are just that _bad."_ He smiles with all the cockiness John expects, the man makes him lose control without hardly trying. "No more pleasantries, I need you now. Touch your body John, slowly, gently, everywhere but your penis. I'll know if you cheat."

John smirks, Sherlock probably could tell. He doesn't speak, only nods as he touches his free hand to his hip, stroking up his side and then his stomach. It's not enough though. He's so wound up, he wants to grab his cock until he's coming everywhere for Sherlock to see. He's only had one wank since Sherlock left and he rushed through that one in the shower before work. 

"Slowly, John, savour it."

"I can't, I'm too - I need this, you have no idea."

"I do, I know exactly how you feel and that's why you're going to do everything I say and take your time. Lay on your back but keep your face turned to me." John rolls back and keeps his head turned to face the laptop. The pillow smells of Sherlock and John drinks it in for a brief second before looking at the screen. Sherlock's concentrating, he's more tense and antsy than he's letting on. "Palms flat on the tops of your thighs, John, close your eyes, breathe deep. You need to calm down."

"Sherlock." John's frustration is bubbling, he wants more than this. 

"Do it, John."

John relents, closing his eyes and breathing deep as full as his lungs will go. "God I've missed you." John says as he exhales. John hadn't intended on saying that out loud.

"And I you. Breathe."

John inhales deep again, letting the breath out slow and steady. 

"Calm?"

"Calmer. Yeah, I'm calm." John felt a little less like he was going to burst but no less hard.

"Now. Finger tips, slow John, make figure of eights on your legs, slowly." John does as instructed, all the while breathing slow and deep. He can see Sherlock in his mind's eye, kneeling beside him hard and touching himself lazily as he watches. "Part your legs more, trace them inside your thighs."

John shifts and keeps his rhythm of different sized figure of eights, some higher, some closer to where his thighs meet his arse. John's starting to notice the finer details, where the hair of his legs thins and gives way to smoother skin. He notices the heat as he teases higher, letting one finger drag at the crease of his behind. "Mmmmm." John sighs and spreads wider still, more skin, more touching. Fingers slowly everywhere now.

"God, John, that's it." Sherlock's voice rumbles quietly, John almost feels like he's really there. "Look at me."

John opens his eyes, heavy and clouded but he sees Sherlock. He's biting his bottom lip, aroused but analysing all the same. "Up your body, John, feel the muscles of your stomach, feel them soft and supple, know I'm going to make them tight and hard when you come."

"God." It's all John can say.

"Touch, enjoy it, John, your body is beautiful. I'll kiss every inch of it when I return. I'll lick you, taste you, suck the very flavour out of you."

"Jesus, don't stop talking." 

Sherlock leans closer to his camera now, John can see the flush on his cheeks, wide eyes, dry mouth as his whets his lips with his tongue. "I've never heard such delightful sounds as the ones you make, John. I want to touch you in pitch darkness, nothing but you moaning, grunting, keening, growling, gasping to guide me until I hear you come. Cry my name. Beautiful." Sherlock's giving way to everything he feels, his composure crumbling, John could watch him forever. "Is there pre-ejaculate on your stomach?" 

John nods, he doesn't need to look, he can feel it. 

"Trace your finger through it, rub it in but don't touch yourself."

"God," John finds it with his fingers, "I'm- I'm doing that. There's quite a bit." 

Sherlock groans, his words becoming deeper yet more urgent. "Touch your lips. Paint them."

John had experimented a little before but never like this. Sherlock's words are making his head spin as he moves his fingers to his mouth, unconsciously unhurried, and smoothes his lips with himself.  
"Oh, I wanted to make you wait but lick them now, lick your lips."

John carefully and slowly tastes himself, making sure his eyes are on the camera rather than Sherlock this time. He wants to give Sherlock that eye contact. The tang is light but undeniable as he swipes across his top lip then drags his bottom lip into his mouth to suck. Sherlock's darkened eyes make John brave. "Next time make it yours. I want to taste you."

"You feel ready?"

"I don't think there's a limit on what I'd do for you." John's equally terrified and excited by how much he means it. "You'll have to tell me how, instruct me." John's lidded eyes convey exactly why he wants those instructions, Sherlock's direction turns him on like nothing on earth.

"With perfect detail, John, I won't go easy on you." Sherlock's voice catches, betraying how much he wants the same. "I'll tell you exactly what to do with that dastardly tongue of yours, how to suck the length of me, I want you to penetrate me at the same time."

"Fu-, yes, Sherlock." John's hand returns to the pre-come on his stomach and a faint touch to his cock.

"No touching."

"Accident. God, could you really tell?"

"I see everything on your face. I know right now that you're circling your fingers in your essence but your other hand sits on your hip, obediently waiting for me to say 'you can touch'."  
He was right, of course he was right. John would laugh if he wasn't so desperate. "Can I?"

"No, keep going, trace your pectoral muscles, stroke them."

John puts his fingers back to his chest, fingers slick so they leave a streak across his sternum. "I want to see you. Strip for me, Sherlock. Please."

"All in good time, we've barely begun." Sherlock's toying with his bottom lip, running his index finger back and forth and John can only imagine where his other hand is as he sighs almost under his breath. "Brush lightly against your nipples, John, barely touch them."

John moves both hands slow, just drifting them across already hard, darkened nubs. Just the tip of the tip. It's not enough to get a proper reaction but Sherlock knows the moment he makes that briefest contact. 

"Perfect. Again, more, touch more, circle them but keep your touch light."

John lets his fingers drift back and forth, taking a different path each time. It's maddening, his cock throbbing as every sensation shoots like a spark between his legs. "God, are you hard?" John knows, he just wants to hear Sherlock say it aloud.

"Of course I am. Just thinking about you is enough."

"Me too, even making breakfast this morning, oh god." John's nipples are becoming more and more sensitive. He's never paid attention to them like Sherlock does, Sherlock's not even that interested in his own. Not like John's. 

"I crave your touch, John. I want to drag myself across your chest, my cock and balls, rub them over you." He cuts himself off with a moan. John can see Sherlock fidget, one of his hands brushing the length of his neck, more stimulation, more fantasy that John's touching him. John looks down at himself, even without contact he's so hard and damn near trickling on to his stomach. He needs to touch, needs to touch. "Roll your nipples between your fingers, both at the same time."

"Oh sh-, feels... so sensitive."

"Pinch them, firm, no pain."

John does and it doesn't feel like much until he twists ever-so-slightly. "Ah, oh god." John licks his lips again, his mouth suddenly dry and tastes himself again. "God." Needs to touch, needs to touch.

"Take your pulse, John, tell me." Sherlock's tone takes a desperate edge.

"What?"

"Take your pulse, against your neck."

"Oh." John puts two fingers to his pulse and gives a rough estimate. "Um, a hundred a twenty, or thirty." It's racing even though his muscles feel loose and relaxed. 

"Good, good. Under the pillow, I put a fresh bottle there before I left."

"Thank god." Without moving too much John grabs the lubricant, a more expensive brand than they usually use, one that has a pump to dispense. "Tell me what to do."

"Lay on your left side facing me and slick your left hand, hold yourself, let it warm up on your cock." 

"God, ok, um." John manoeuvres back onto his side making sure Sherlock can still see his face and it's not hidden by the pillow as he can't prop himself up. It feels like they're closer now and Sherlock's looking more unravelled by the second.

"Make yourself comfortable, you'll be here a while."

"You're trusting my discipline when I'm this turned on?"

"Depends if you want to do what you were ready for before I left." 

A simple image runs through John's mind, pushing his cock into Sherlock's arse. "Blackmail."

"Incentivising good behaviour. I want you inside me as much as you want to be there, John."

"So bloody much." Over the last few days his dreams and daydreams had been filled with entering Sherlock for the first time. In bed, over the armchair, on the kitchen table, in the back of a taxi, the changing rooms at the Met, his examination table, right in the bloody airport when Sherlock lands... "Ohhhh. Yeah, I'm uh touching..." John's eyes roll back for a brief moment, he's lost as he gets used to touching his over-sensitised cock. 

"Yes, I had worked out what your hand is doing." Sherlock smiles. "One more stroke to slick yourself then just hold, feel the heat and how hard you are."

"So hard." John agrees as he loses his voice and gives in to more. 

"No thrusting, John." Sherlock scolds but from the way his eyes blink shut for a moment John can tell Sherlock's not being so strict with himself.

"You're touching yourself."

"I can. I've not been wearing trousers." He bites his lip for dramatic effect, knowing John can see the way his arm is moving as he takes himself in hand. John can picture him there, long strokes, cupping his hand over his head and then stroking again. John would never get enough of this. "Loosen your grip, hold gently and rub your slit with your thumb. I don't want you getting carried away, not yet."

John loosens his hold even though his whole body is screaming at him not to and swirls the pad of his thumb. "Sherlock, Sher- ah, mmmph, god really, _really_ good." John shivers and squirms. "L-let me see what you're doing." He wants to see what Sherlock's doing to himself.

"You can see me but this is all you're going to get. I need your focus." John makes a distinct growl of frustration much to Sherlock's amusement. "Now, get the bottle, put lubricant on your middle and index fingers. You can do it with one hand, use your palm to depress the pump, curl your fingers under the nozzle. Be generous."

John swallows hard but he doesn't question, things were changing now. He puts three squeezes on his fingers. 

"Pull your right leg towards your chest, John, keep touching your cock." Sherlock speaks with calm intent, they both know this was going to be new ground.

"Yes, god." He was ready for this. Sherlock had touched him there with slick fingers before but said he wouldn't penetrate him, at least not yet. John thanked and cursed his patience at the same time. "What now?"

"Touch your pucker, John." Sherlock's voice inconceivably low. "Figure of eights and little circles, whatever feels good. Learn yourself and take it _slow."_

John was tired of slow but he was nervous too. He's thought about doing this before but has never mustered up the courage. He flinches as the cold hits him but presses on until he feels skin on skin. His body tenses. 

"Relax, John, just touching, just like I have before. Look at me."

"No, it feels good, god it feels good." The lube was warming up and John's hand was stroking just a little. His hole was still twitching, fluttering, clenching and opening the more he teases, touches and explores himself. His eyes have glazed over, his whole mind focuses on his two fingers stroking. His breath is catching and gasping when he accidently holds it for too long. He lifts his knee a little closer to his chest and works his fingers over his perineum before circling again. "Ah, god. Sherlock, is this ok? Speak to me."

"Good, perfect, your face John, I can read you every touch, your pleasure is incredible to watch. Every detail, I can see it all. Keep going, tell me how you feel." 

"Feel like it's not enough. It's so good, please, tell me."

"Yes, John, index finger, press..." Sherlock swallows hard, "press in, just enough for the tip of your finger. Keep your eyes open, look at me." This time Sherlock's looking at the camera so John feels the eye contact. "Take your virgin hole, John."

"Bloody hell, god, just..." John holds his breath and presses with a slight wriggle. Sherlock's there, slumped in his chair now, his shoulder moving enough to give John an idea of what he's doing and where he's touching. "Ah, there, oh god, I'm in, oh god, I need more."

"Give yourself more, but slow, breathe out as you push in."

John presses in, his body wanting it, the muscles inside parting until he's at the second knuckle. "Oh, feels..."

"Strange?"

"Yeah. Nice but... odd." John moves his finger out and in a bit. It feels new and desperately sexual, his cock was pulsing with the flow of blood and trying to surge into his palm for more contact. "Jesus, wish this was you."

"It will be but I want you to know yourself first. You need to know your limits, know what feels good."

For a moment John wonders if someone didn't take his time with Sherlock or that it wasn't until he touched himself that he really knew what he liked. He'll think about that later, right now all he can think about his own finger that's playing and probing gently. "You always know what feels good." John smiles and bites his lip as his wriggles his finger a little deeper still and groans like he's never before. 

"Oh god, I need to lie down if you're going to do that." Sherlock moves to his bed, not revealing a thing to John. He lies down but undoes a couple of buttons on his shirt. His chest and neck are flushed pink. 

"God you look debauched, Sherlock. I want to be in you right now." Fuckable, Sherlock was the picture of fuckable.

"Soon, I promise, tomorrow. You can have me tomorrow."

"Not soon enough. Aghhh." John pushed too hard and his finger wasn't lubed that high up.

"Not too fast, hold it there. Massage the head of your cock John, rock your hips into it, feel yourself quiver around your finger."

John turns his attention back to his cock and uses his palm and fingers to stroke his head. His muscles do quiver everywhere, making his head turn into the pillow as his whole body moves with it. "Sherlock." He gasps.

"Look at me, come on, don't hide."

John looks again at Sherlock, almost panting. "Sherlock. It's... I feel, I can't describe..."

"More lube, put more on your finger and push it inside yourself." 

"Oh god." John slowly withdraws his fingers and applies more. Coating everywhere on his two fingers. Sherlock's looking down at himself. "I sometimes think I could come just looking at you, John. Ohhh, I'm touching myself for you."

"I know exactly how as well." John tries to joke but he's circling himself once more, feeling the wrinkled edges of himself before pushing and wriggling inside again. "Shh-errlock." The name comes out strangled as he slides deeper. 

"That's it, that's it." Sherlock bites his bottom lip while making sounds that John would never forget. "Move your finger in and out, penetrate yourself over and over for me."

"Oh god, oh, yes, I'm..."

"You're so tight and hot, feel the muscles squeeze, I'll be like that for you. I'll stretch around your cock and hold you inside me. You can take me or let me ride you, it'll feel exquisite, I need you in me." 

"Every way, want to have you every way possible."

"How ambitious." Sherlock tries to quip but he's strained, half picturing the possibilities while his hands play and tease with more intent. "Stroke your cock, John, keep it gentle, we're not there yet."

John's face is a picture of desperation but Sherlock's practically matching him. "Soon, god Sherlock." 

"I won't come until you do and trust me I want to come. God, what you do to me."

"Me too, god don't be too long."

"Two fingers, John. Can you do that for me?"

"I-I can try."

"Put your middle finger in on its own first, then try both."

John once again does as he's told, slowly sliding out one finger and pushing in with the other. He can feel the slight change in width even between his two fingers, how on earth can he get both in without it hurting? 

"Relax, John, your body can do this. Keep touching yourself and go very slow, dip in and out, let yourself stretch and relax."

"Do you want to see?" John's voice is strained as he thinks about putting the laptop behind him for Sherlock to see.

"No. The first time I see you stretched around fingers they'll be mine."

"Fuck." The curse comes without a thought. "Ah, sorry."

"Shush, keep touching yourself, push and relax, remember to breathe." Sherlock adjusts his position so he's lying on his back, John hopes that his legs are spread and he'll be joining him soon. "More, John, you can take it."

It's uncomfortable but John keeps trying, slipping fingers in and out, trying both slightly staggered begins to work. "Keep talking, Sherlock."

"I'm going to finger myself soon but not yet. I know I won't be able to help myself. I'll be greedy and take my pleasure too soon. I wish it was you inside me, your fingers, your cock, your tongue."

At the word _'tongue'_ John's body gives and lets his two fingers slide deep. "Oh..." John's face scrunches but melts quickly into something languid and drunk.

"Two fingers?"

"Yeah, my god. Christ."

"How deep? Tell me now."

"Second knuckle, so stretched and tight, can't believe I'm doing this." John's body quivers again, squeezing his cock firm and stroking just enough to keep him on this intense edge. His eyes on Sherlock's he's breathing heavy, body moving as he touches himself. "Feels like a lot."

"Beautiful, so gorgeous, John. Deeper, please push them deeper for me."

"Anything." John presses and though the resistance is there he gets them to the hilt and- "Aggghhnn, jesus! Fucking hell!" John's eyes shoot open and he stops everything. "Fuck."

"Prostate, oh John, touch it, touch it again, hand on your cock, god, come, come like that." Sherlock's moving frantically, almost writhing on his hotel bed.

"No, too- too much." John stammers.

"What?"

"It's... I didn't..." John can barely look at the screen. That felt not good at all.

"Ok." Sherlock's out of breath. "Look at me and try to keep relaxed." John takes his eyes off the ceiling and back to Sherlock, who's holding still with calm concern on his face. "One more try, but this time be careful not to prod it, feel up towards it slowly."

"I don't..." John calms himself. He's not sure which finger did it but the feeling of painfully too much sensation wasn't something he particularly wanted to feel again. His cock has softened a little too. He's a doctor, he knows the human body but this is far from a medical touch. He sees Sherlock trying to look concerned while amazingly aroused and gives him a half smile. "Yeah, alright." 

"Stroke yourself, make yourself feel good again before you move your fingers." 

John's slides his hand up and down, bringing himself back to full hardness quicker than he was expecting but watching Sherlock doing the same was helping. 

"Ok, trying again." He takes a deep breath and moves inside himself, slower this time. Something gives again, a jolt of something but much better this time. It makes both of his legs involuntarily draw up and his arse clench. "God!"

"Bit better?" Sherlock's hesitant.

"Yeah. Just..." John moves higher inside himself again, cautious but that feeling comes again as he finds the very edge of his prostate. "Ohhhhmmmm." No, that, that he very much likes. "Yeah, think I was a bit rough first time. Oh god." John sweeps lightly across it, difficult with the angle but his whole body jerks and his cock twitches in his hand. "Yeah, Christ, Sherlock, you have to do this to me."

"Oh, I will, you have no idea how you look, how your face changed when you touched it properly. No one else has seen that face, it's just for me." Sherlock's speaking quickly, his restraint to help John fading now John's discovered what he likes.

"Come on, Sherlock, join me, finger yourself too."

"Yes, yes." Sherlock groans as he pushes inside himself, John knows he's gone straight for two because he winces but like he said, he's greedy. "John, John, oh, please."

"Tell me what you want."

"Just come, don't stop now, thrust your fingers and touch yourself, find out what you like and just... ohhh, I'm so close already, I can't last."

John goes for it, finding that almost taking his fingers out and pushing them deep with a slight sweep over his prostate was just perfect. His hand is difficult to move on his side but it won't stop him now, holding firm on his cock and tugging for dear life. "Sherlock, oh god, yes, want to kiss you."

"Soon, soon, ah, you'll be inside my mouth and my body." Sherlock pants, biting on his lips and moaning as his orgasm begins to coil tight. 

"God yes, please." John's fucking himself with his own fingers furiously, not remembering a time when his arse wasn't being filled, rubbed and stretched. "God this... feels amazing."

"You've had your last woman, John, no one else but me now." Sherlock almost growls as he desperately strokes himself, one hand tucked between his legs, rubbing his prostate. 

"Yes, god, yes." No one else but Sherlock.

"No one touches you but me, you _touch_ no one but me. Understand? No one else sees you like this. Just me now."

"Yes, god," John starts twisting his fingers as he fucks himself. That's new and fantastic too. He grits his teeth, almost there... "Sherlock, I'm... _Sherlock..."_ John's fist on his cock jerks tight as he finally breaks, his body lost and his voice hoarse. Come spills on his stomach and Sherlock's bed sheets but John's mind is on the tight cinching around his fingers as he comes around them. Everything tight and shivering, how good would that feel with Sherlock's fingers inside him, or maybe more? His body shudders, coming longer and harder than any time he's touched himself before, his whole body feels like it's exploding and imploding. "Ah, god, _ohmygod."_ Finally he can breathe again. 

John's body starts to relax, but he keeps his fingers inside for now. It's almost comforting to have them there. 

"Oh god, that was amazing, Sherlock." He forces his eyes open in time to see Sherlock writhing and so very close. "Gorgeous Sherlock, I'm watching you, look at me." Sherlock's eyes that were focusing on nothing come back to the screen. John slowly takes his fingers from himself, making sure Sherlock's watching his every expression. "Ohhhh _god..."_

"John!" Sherlock groans and that's enough for him climax, head thrown back and shouting out as he fights it and rides it simultaneously. John moans at the sight of him, wishing he had the foresight to record him. John's watches as he comes on his own neck, a glistening streak sliding to his collar bone. No one can look that good coming but Sherlock. John waits for Sherlock to come back down as he lies with his eyes closed but with his face tilted towards John. John lies still, pulling the covers over himself to keep warm. "Thank you." Sherlock whispers.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I haven't climaxed since I left. Doesn't feel right without you now. Masturbating on my own is rubbish."

"Sex with another person is usually better."

"No. You, sex with _you_ is better... than anything."

"Even solving a case?"

"Joint first. Solving cases are less sticky. Usually."

John laughs a little, as much as he can when he's this relaxed. He's a little sore too. "When are you coming home?"

"Should get in around 4am. I have to leave for the airport in an hour. I couldn't wait until I got back."

"Neither could I. Come into my bed when you get here, I've made a mess of yours." More than a mess, he'd never seen... quantity, like that before. Sherlock would probably find it fascinating but John will let him discover the effects of prostate stimulation in John Watsons first hand.

"That was my plan. Did you enjoy that?"

"I could become partial to it." John smirks. Very partial though he wants Sherlock to be the one next time.

"Good." Sherlock yawns while using a few tissues to give himself a cursory clean up. "God, I'm sorry I've got to sleep for half an hour before I need to leave."

"Leave the laptop on, I'll wake you." John was happy to lie there and watch over Sherlock until he would have to drag his mucky self to the shower and then fix some dinner. Usually Sherlock would lie with some part of his body flung over or entwined with John's as he fell asleep. This will do though.

"Mmm, goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to high demand (and my insatiable appetite for this universe) there will be one more chapter ;)


	9. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a bit of a wait the second bonus chapter is here. Finally. Sherlock has returned from Germany...

John's eyes shoot open. Sherlock isn't making an effort to come in quietly from the sounds coming from the downstairs hallway. The clock at John's bedside reads 6.04am and morning light is starting to creep through the curtains, the plane must have been delayed. Sherlock clomps up the stairs and bursts through the bedroom door. "I will destroy Easy Jet!" He spits as he viciously starts removing his clothes, tossing them into a pile in front of John's wardrobe. "Pathetic, incompetent, foul, useless, inhuman, dismal, appalling, disgusting-"

"You flew Easy Jet? Didn't you learn your lesson from the last time?" John says with a sleepy grin, Sherlock's rants are always amusing when he's in the mood for one and right now he's happy to listen. He has him back.

"A flight with a _proper_ airline would have taken another six hours and I still wouldn't be home." Sherlock shucks off his underwear, leaving him completely naked. John doesn't have long to admire as Sherlock leaps into bed and wraps himself around John. 

"Ah, for the love of- you are freezing!"

"Warm me up then." Sherlock manhandles John so he's being spooned. "Mmm, almost perfect." Sherlock grabs John's pyjama bottoms and tugs them down. John chuckles and helps to push them to his ankles and kick them out of the bed. Before John can help, Sherlock sets to work on John's t-shirt, yanking it upwards and trapping his arms and head. 

"Hold on!" John laughs.

"Naked. Now." With one last pull John's head pops free and Sherlock throws the t-shirt away. He pulls John back where he wants him and although Sherlock's cold _everywhere,_ John grits his teeth and bares it. "Much better." Sherlock says with a squeeze and nuzzle into John's neck. John smiles contentedly, this feels right. Cold, but very, very right. "Warm my hands." Sherlock demands.

John holds Sherlock's hands against his stomach rubs some heat into them. "Have you slept?"

"I got a couple of hours on that vile excuse for an aeroplane. We circled for an age, I was prepared to land the plane myself."

"Mmm, you need more sleep then. We deserve a lie in." 

"When did you turn in?"

"Round about one, got caught up with some blog stuff." John had been researching an email that might interest Sherlock. He'll mention it later otherwise Sherlock will get excited and won't sleep. He does love an elegant robbery on occasion, it breaks up the murders. When the robberies don't turn into murders of course.

"Boring." Sherlock's hands wander lower towards John's slightly interested prick. It was always interested when Sherlock was in close proximity. Close _naked_ proximity.

"Oi, you're still too cold for that!"

"How about here then?" Sherlock's hands slink back to John's bottom, groping enthusiastically. John's whole body goes goosepimply but he doesn't complain. "Mmmm, yes perfect hand warmers." Sherlock kisses the back of John's bumpy neck, small pecks then wetter kisses and little nibbles. John's happy enough being a lewd hand warmer as he wriggles into Sherlock's groping palms. They lie quietly as Sherlock massages and fondles John's behind, mapping the curves and squeezing. "How do you feel? Sore?" He rumbles into John's ear, other hidden questions lying beneath those words.

"Not particularly." 

"Can I..." Sherlock's fingers begin to creep and John answers only with the slight shift of his top leg, parting himself enough to give Sherlock easier access. Closer those fingers steal, purposefully slow but John's learnt that Sherlock rarely rushes when he's got time to savour every sensation. _"Oh..."_ Sherlock brushes lightly against John's centre and purrs into John's ear. John bites his bottom lip and groans, his nerve endings already alight as Sherlock gently swirls and strokes, never threatening to push, just feeling the different textures and reactions. "You're remembering." 

"Yeah, god. How can I not?" He's discovered something so new about himself and really he's only just begun.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all the way home, you were in my dreams, John."

"What did you dream?"

"Putting my fingers into you, slowly, watching and feeling your body give way to accept me. Mine are longer than yours, I could make them go deeper. Touch you where you've never been touched before."

"Christ." John lifts his knee higher, no need to be subtle now. He wants that.

"But there's so much I don't know, I want to know how you like to be touched."

"Yeah, oh, please."

"Please?"

"Keep going, don't stop, Sherlock."

Sherlock presses a little, barely enough but John feels himself give and let the very tip of Sherlock's finger inside. "Oh, I can still feel the lubricant." Sherlock rubs his already hard cock into John's arse cheek for a little relief. John bends his arm back and fists him slowly while Sherlock keeps toying with his opening, dipping in and out that would barely be noticeable to someone watching but to John it feels like so, so much. Sherlock's waiting for the word and John's ready to give it.

"God, _more."_

"On your back. Pillow under your hips." 

John quickly rolls on to his back and adjusts the pillow Sherlock's trying to shove underneath his hips. There's no time to lose, he wants Sherlock to feel inside him for the first time. John pulls Sherlock towards him for a rather inelegant kiss. Blindly he grabs the lubricant from last night off the side table and forces it into Sherlock's hand. "Now." John puts one foot flat on the bed angled away from them, he's ready. A little nervous, but ready.

"You've already come recently..."

"Almost ten hours ago, I can go again. Look at me." John's been hard since the groping, Sherlock just had that effect on him.

"I'm thinking about the third." Sherlock says low while smoothing a generous amount of lube onto John's cock. John pushes his hips into his hand out of reflex, sliding beautifully. "Can you get hard again while preparing me? I want you inside me soon."

"Believe me, not a problem." John replaces Sherlock's hand with his own, stroking himself lazily, there's no need for urgency yet. Sherlock settles himself with his head propped up on one hand and his body laying beside the length of John. He swings one leg over John's outstretched one but John doesn't feel pinned, he feels anchored. It helps that Sherlock's cock and balls are pressing hotly into his hip, reminding him of how much Sherlock wants this too. "Oh Christ, I don't know what I want first." 

"Luckily I do." Sherlock had slicked his fingers when John wasn't paying attention and slides them across John's perineum to his waiting entrance.

There's no real pressure yet, just a glide of gentle fingers where he slopes to his centre. "Oh god, yes, keep- keep doing that." Even though John's felt Sherlock do this before, he knows there's so much more to come this time. 

"No rush."

"You wouldn't rush even if I begged for it." John finishes his sentence with a groan as Sherlock's fingers slip to press behind his balls and then back to their circling and massaging again.

"But I'd be so very tempted." Sherlock leans down and kisses John, teasing his mouth open and swirling his tongue in perfect synchronicity with the finger swirling between John's cheeks. It's dizzying to have his own mouth linked to a part of him being so wonderfully relaxed open. It makes the sweet kiss something much more carnal and achingly promising. 

John moves his one leg wider and tilts his hips, silently hoping Sherlock will take the hint and start to push in again. Still he torments and teases, even lightening his touch to something almost ticklish. When John grabs Sherlock's hair tighter with an impatient moan of complaint Sherlock smiles against his mouth. "God, I'm ready." John needs to feel that intense touch again, of something foreign inside him but right too. He needs it to be Sherlock.

"Say it. I want to hear those words." Sherlock whispers into John's ear, nuzzling his still cold nose and licking at his lobe. Sherlock's not demanding, he needs this too.

"I want your fingers in me. God, I need you in me." John has never said anything like this before, he's never wanted anything like this before. He should be in Sherlock's position, not laying here with his legs spread. 

"Yes, I'll give you anything you desire, John." Sherlock pulls back enough to watch John as he changes his pattern of movement and slowly presses inside, his finger tip tilted at the perfect angle to open John up. "Ohhhh..." Sherlock groans as if he's the one being penetrated. John closes his eyes and keeps relaxed, fighting the urge to clamp down as Sherlock keeps pushing deeper. "Oh you're drawing me into you, you're meant for this, John. Meant to have me touch every part of you."

"Yes." Sherlock pulls his finger back slightly before pushing in again, stroking John's inner walls as he goes. "Oh... god." One more time and John's trying not to squirm away, it's so intense. Slow and steady, Sherlock probes him. John can't believe how different it feels to be penetrated, not physically but mentally and emotionally. He's had women before, grinding on his hand, moaning, begging for more and pleading with him not to stop. He felt that power, to drive someone to such heights with just his hand but this... _this,_ was different. He felt vulnerable. As Sherlock goes millimetres deeper he finds himself wanting to wriggle, to push against Sherlock's fingers and god knows he's already moaning with every little move. He's never felt _taken_ before, Sherlock was _inside_ him. No one had done this for him, well, except himself. "Don't stop, oh Christ, so good."

"Look at me."

John opens his eyes, Sherlock's intense gaze makes him want to spread himself even more for this man. He should be terrified but he'd trust Sherlock with anything at this moment. "Deeper." 

"Oh, John." Sherlock keeps pressing in and John keeps stroking himself, keeping that steady flow of pleasure he's used to so everything makes sense and feels amazing. He feels another knuckle stretch him by millimetres and squeeze in. John lets out a noise from low in his chest, he's already starting to feel full and desperate.

"Oh dear god, John." Sherlock says in awe, pulling out and pushing back in, trying to get the same reaction but this time John can't breathe, he's clenching his muscles but feels like he's sucking Sherlock inside, taking him deeper. 

"Make a fist around my cock John, it's aching, I need something oh..." John wriggles his arm from under Sherlock and grabs his erection tight. "Oh perfect, I could rut myself blind against you." Sherlock makes little thrusts as John keeps his fist still. "Keep touching yourself, John."

John strokes himself a little faster but not too much. "Oh god, I need more, just don't touch my prostate yet." John's still a little nervous, what works for Sherlock definitely doesn't work for him.

"I won't." Sherlock says with delicious suck to John's bottom lip. "You still have to teach me how."

"Ahhhgg..." Sherlock does something else, a twist of his wrist as he thrusts gently, that twist rubbing his still tight ring that not used to giving way like this. It feels amazing, so much sensation in a way his body doesn't yet understand. "Jesus..." John gasps, his body seizing for a moment, legs twitching. "It's like I can feel everything, even your fingerprint."

"Oh." Sherlock sighs, seemingly delighted with John's observation as he continues to rut into John's hand. "Tell me more."

"Ahhh, oh god. Sherlock." John's passage ripples a little as Sherlock ventures closer to his sensitive nub. "Yes, oh god. Feels... you're _in me,_ there's no words, I've never felt anything like this, ah god, before. I'm just... I feel like you _have_ me."

"I do. You're safe in my hands, John."

"I know." John says with a kiss. "Just don't stop."

"I won't, I won't ever stop. There's so much virgin you to touch. I've touched everywhere, even between your toes, I want every part of you to know me." Sherlock twists again, easing a little deeper and John has to squeeze his eyes shut again. "So stunning."

John grips a little firmer on Sherlock's cock, there's no real risk of him coming just like this and John gets to feel Sherlock rut harder against him. "Oh god, kiss me." John pleads and Sherlock's only too happy to oblige, his tongue thrusting and twisting into John's mouth in time with his probing finger. Every curl and curve of his tongue is mirrored inside his body, John feels open at both ends. With both of his hands occupied on two exceedingly rigid cocks, he couldn't feel more at Sherlock's mercy. He wasn't doing the fucking like he used to think he should, Sherlock was finger-fucking him and god it's magnificent. He groans into Sherlock's mouth at one gorgeous little curling stroke and works his own cock a little harder but he wants more before this is over yet. "Sherlock, two, give me two." He pants, he hadn't noticed he wasn't breathing steadily anymore.

"Anything, of course. Can I watch?"

"Oh f-, yes." Sherlock kisses him hard but doesn't move down yet. Instead he burrows into John's neck, sucking what will undoubtedly be a significant love bite before doing the same above his heart. "God, Sherlock, god." Still that finger is moving inside him, now in time to the tongue on his nipple. Sherlock's cock has slipped free of his grasp now so John cups the back of Sherlock's neck, keeping him licking and flicking a little longer. John gasps and grunts at a small nip yet another point of sensation sparking. John moans and slowly rocks his hips so to stroke Sherlock against the front of his internal passage. John's lost all words, just a string of disconnected sounds and deep moans.

"Beautiful, like music." Sherlock murmurs into John's skin before finally moving down to settle on his knees between John's now spread legs. Both feet flat on the bed, he's never laid with himself this openly before, Sherlock can see everything. 

Sherlock keeps probing idly, watching his single finger reappear and disappear inside. John watches Sherlock, his mouth parted and eyes narrowed, his wonder and desire evident. John knows he's been waiting for this, not just from what he said last night, he's been preparing John since their second night together when Sherlock had been fascinated with groping his behind, even kissing it. 

Right now Sherlock's free hand is softly palming the inside of John's thigh, moving to trace the crease where John's arse and leg meet. His fingers travel slowly along his groin and then across until he finger sits where John's sack meets the base of his cock. Sherlock pulls his bottom lip into his mouth as he drags his finger lower, following the curve between his testicles until he finds John's perineum and then further back. "Sherlock." John breathes out, looking up to the ceiling for a moment before returning to Sherlock's intensely concentrated face. Sherlock, still gently fingering, uses his other digit to circle John's opening where it's stretched. 

_"Oh god!"_

"Feel it, I'm inside you, you've let me in." 

"You- oh my... god." John doesn't know what to do with this new feeling, he wants more and less at the same time, too many wires are crossed and all the while Sherlock's moving in and out of him. John adjusts his grip on his cock and soothes the confusion with the quickening urge to come. 

"Can I kiss you here one day?" Sherlock swirls all the way around as he pushes in with his other finger. John's pushing down now, meeting him and squirming for him. He needs that extra finger right now but he can't speak. "I promised to kiss every inch, I want to start there. I want to taste you."

Considering he's discovered how sensitive he is down there the thought of Sherlock's plump lips on him was making him desperate. "Yes, yes, more, please, two." John struggles to speak but he needs more.

"Remember what I told you before, relax, breathe." Sherlock slides one finger free and replaces it with the other, just as preparation. John flinches at the surprising coolness but then Sherlock's other finger had been warmed by his body. "Ready for more?" 

John nods and Sherlock does some well practiced trick John can barely follow. With a quick circling motion, both tips of his fingers breech and stretch him open. Sherlock slips into the first knuckle. "Oh, John, that's the most beautiful sight." 

"Oh god, oh god." John's trying not to tense but he feels too tight, the stretch is right on his limit and he's not in control this time. Sherlock eases back, massaging the tension away but still with those two fingers inside. "Yes, better." It's starting to feel more natural and easier. "Oh god, Sherlock." John's whispered words are taken as a signal for Sherlock to work his way further in. John tries to speak but moans from somewhere deep, tipping his head back like that might make space for the intrusion that he so badly wants.

Sherlock shifts his body, bracing himself on one arm above John with his two fingers still slowly thrusting. "John."

"Y-yeah." John tries to focus his eyes on Sherlock face but can only focus on his mouth, the way his lips are so full and pink, parted to take in more air. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip and John follows it with his thumb. He lets Sherlock suck for a brief moment before John moistens his bottom lip for him, making it shine. "Wow." 

"Feels good?" Sherlock's moves slightly, his cock now resting close to John's entrance but John knows he won't push for that. Feeling the heavy heat there is enough and with the way Sherlock's fingers are moving John can almost imagine Sherlock's hips moving in time, all his body behind every push inside. 

"Yeah." John almost laughs, he's swimming in it, almost lost with the intensity. "Amazing, love, amazing."

"Can you follow instruction?"

"Yes, let me touch you." 

"No. Show me how to touch your prostate. Use your cock John, pretend the tip is your prostate and show me."

"Oh god, um." John stills his hand and Sherlock halts too, his fingers resting deep inside. It's a strange pause but John's happy to do anything Sherlock tells him to do. Before obeying John takes a second to purposely squeeze around those digits, making Sherlock's eyes roll back and smile.

"Fiend." 

"Pay attention." John chides. Sherlock, still leaning over looks down. It's a sight John hadn't fully appreciated, his own prick in hand and the sight of Sherlock's disappearing between his own spread legs. "Wow, that's... something."

"You've never looked as astounding as you do now, John." Sherlock's half breathless, just from watching and remaining untouched. "Now show me, I want to know how to elicit those expressions you made last night, those wonderful sounds, I want to stimulate you perfectly."

"Oh god." John's mouth dried, Sherlock could do it so easily with words. "Here." John begins with his thumb, his unsteady fingers holding his cock upright. He sweeps his thumb from left to right along the shaft until he reaches the head but then only sweeping around the very tip in a semi circle. "Really light." Sherlock's panting even more as John repeats, this time faster. "Faster pace as I get close, you can even try going over it," John groans as he brushes his slit, "god, just hardly touch it. It'll be enough."

"John." Sherlock steals a kiss before pulling back enough to watch John's face, reading it like he had over the webcam. Slowly Sherlock's fingers move, just back and forth at first to re-establish a rhythm that quickly brings John back to that half wordless state. He's more relaxed now, Sherlock fingers slide with relative ease. With a nod John gives his assent. 

The change isn't immediate, Sherlock starts with little back and forth movements but creeps upwards. His concentration is intense, knowing that if he feels that spot he's gone too far. John trusts him though, even if it's trial and error. John's just about to encourage Sherlock when his inside roll in that lovely new way and his legs jerk. It was only slight but enough for Sherlock's first touch. "Oh god, yeah."

"Incredible."

"Again." 

Sherlock tentatively pushes deeper again, his two fingers stroking sinuously, closer and closer. "Fuh- oh, Christ." John jerks sharply and his cock surges close to coming in his hand. "Ohhhh."

"Good?"

"Yeah, god, it's still weird. Intense. Weird. Good, really good, just new still." John's not sure if he's making sense.

"Would you prefer to do it yourself?"

"No, no, no. Keep going, I want you to do this for me. Learn through doing."

A few more times and John was getting used to the sudden spikes, learning to coordinate them with his own hand and ride them rather than getting knocked sideways. Soon he was moaning as Sherlock built up a rhythm, stroking a rubbing around John's prostate, sweeping back and forth, up and down. Closer, then further away, cataloguing every moment and then adding another. John's gasping for breath, Sherlock's building up the pace of his touches, sending jolts and waves though his body and straight to his cock. "God, oh god. _Close."_

"Hand off, let me take over."

John lets go of his erection and Sherlock swipes through the pre-come on John's stomach for extra slickness before his non-dominant hand takes over. John groans as he finds Sherlock's plenty capable of multitasking, the extra slickness on his crown adding an extra thrill. The quick and efficient strokes rush John to the edge but holding him there as Sherlock daring teases at the edge of his internal spot. John's mumbling Sherlock's name and trying to keep still, he doesn't want Sherlock to accidently poke him and ruin this. John grabs the headboard above him to steady himself, looking down at Sherlock working his body. "Oh god, Sherlock, I'm so close, please."

"Little more, John, I have you. I'm learning you." 

"God, twist them a little as you push in, ohhhhmmmm... yeah like that."

"Keep telling me, instruct me."

"Make me come then!" 

Sherlock rumbles a low chuckle. "Oh, John, you do amuse me." Sherlock thrusts instead, ignoring John's prostate, twisting and damn near fucking John with his fingers. "Move John, you don't need to stay still for this."

"Oh god." John's rocking his hips with every thrust, he can't keep his legs still, squeezing them around Sherlock. "Harder." John grunts, tilting his hips up and biting his lips together as Sherlock pushes in hard, deep and relentlessly. John's using his arms to force himself down on to Sherlock's fingers, his whole body centred on those fingers. 

"Please." 

Sherlock's swiping near his prostate again and the hand on John's cock switches to the short, surefire strokes that always gets John off. John throws his arms back to the headboard, gripping for dear life. "Gorgeous, let go John, want to feel to climax around my fingers."

"Sher-" The rest of Sherlock's name is lost as John's body seizes and shudders, his cock pulsing and insides clamping tight down and spasming around Sherlock's gently wriggling fingers. It's the fingers that are filling his mind, the focus of his orgasm used to be his cock and now his shivering arse is the centre of what he's experiencing. "Sherlock, Sherlock." John says with his first breath, his body still shaking. "Aggh." An aftershock catches John by surprise, a steady ripple that seems to start from Sherlock's fingertips inside him to the fingertips gently stroking his sensitive fraenulum like they were connected with electricity. "Sherlock, dear god." John unclenches his fingers from the bed head with a hiss and relaxes, his body finally spent and empty. 

"Wonderful, you were wonderful." Sherlock carefully starts to withdraw. "Might be uncomfortable."

"Ohhhh, aaahhhggg." It was aching, he felt swollen down there, more so than last night but then Sherlock had been more vigorous than John had been with himself. Especially towards the end. John had loved that especially. "Lay." 

"But I need to get my-"

John knows he's spotted how his stomach and chest coated with copious amounts of semen. More than last night even. "Just guess, no 'speriments." John's still getting the hang of speech, multisyllabic words were definitely out of reach. His tongue and lips are dumb from his orgasm.

Sherlock scan quickly and smiles. "You knew I'd like this. You noticed yesterday."

"Yeah I did." Sherlock opens the bottom drawer of John's bedside table and pulls out a couple of flannels from the half dozen Sherlock had stashed there for occasions such as this. 

"Rest while I clean you, I won't be patient for much longer."

"Mmm...?" John's drifting, every muscle in his body is relaxed and soft.

"You're going to penetrate me, John." 

It's now that John remembers that Sherlock is still hard and waiting. "Oh god, want you." He strokes Sherlock's hair out of his face. "Tell me what to do." 

"I want you to lay me down, I want to slick your fingers for you. I want you to start with two fingers, it won't take long to prepare me. Do you know why?"

"No." John can't think no matter how hard he tries.

"I stretched myself for you, on that hotel bed while I watched you bring yourself to orgasm. I had three fingers inside me and then again in the shower."

"Bloody hell." 

Sherlock chucks the saturated flannels to the floor and John's got enough wherewithal to push Sherlock backwards, reversing their positions. Sherlock eyes are sparkling, his desire has been put on hold for so long. "God Sherlock, you're so... god, I can't even." Laid beneath him, so very achingly hard, ready for this. John's still too post-orgasm to react physically but his mind is right there. 

John grabs the lube but Sherlock snatches it off him. John offers his hand as Sherlock quickly coats three of them to the knuckle, squeezing extra on the tip of his index and middle fingers. "Now." Sherlock orders.

"Ready?" John asks as he circles, he can already feel he's slightly loose. 

"I've been ready since before Germany. Two fingers."

John pushes in and greedily Sherlock takes him. "God, you're not far off are you?"

"Move your fingers John, stretch me."

John gently opens and closes his fingers as he pushes in and out, easing Sherlock wider as he mumbles his approval. John's half doing it on autopilot, knowing Sherlock's passage better than he knows his own. He's only half concentrating because his mind is focused on Sherlock's cock. Hard, shining, flat against his stomach looking utterly powerful. "Sherlock, can I...?" 

"You're not hard yet."

"No, um." John moves between Sherlock's legs. God, he can smell him, the pre-come and general musk of his genitals wafting into his nostrils. John's taken aback that it makes his mouth water. John, still fingering Sherlock, stoops down and places a small, closed mouth kiss on Sherlock's shaft. 

"Oh John, yes, again, start at the root and work your way up." Sherlock's voice almost stutters as he musters up some instruction for John. Sherlock took a heady delight in taking firsts from John, knowing that he was the only man John had ever touched or been touched by. That he was the only man to have brought John to orgasm. "Keep your eyes on me." 

John feels comfort in the instructions, it takes away the nerves but leaves the fizzing anticipation. He dips his head down again with eyes locked with Sherlock. John loves how wide Sherlock's pupil dilate, he looks wild and heated, nothing like the cool stare he reserves for the rest of the world. John breathes in the smell of Sherlock deep into his lungs before he kisses again. Heat, that's the first thing he notices. With the second kiss it's the firmness of flesh under his lips. Moving higher John makes the kiss last longer and Sherlock's eyes flutter close for a moment. John smiles just a little. Higher still and John feels brave and parts his lips ever so slightly. Sherlock sighs his name, never breaking their gaze. Up a little more and John kisses the sensitive knot of his head and allows just the tip of his tongue touch. Sherlock feels it and gasps, John smiles feeling that he's doing well.

"Again, John, with your tongue. Keep moving your fingers too, I'll tell you when to put in a third."

John twists his fingers inside Sherlock and sets a rhythm had can keep without thinking, enough to have Sherlock contented while John experiments. Tentatively he goes to touch Sherlock with his tongue again, a small lick and the taste is sharp. Of course Sherlock's been leaking pre-come this whole time. John licks again, remembering how his own tasted. Sherlock's wasn't that dissimilar, stronger perhaps but John's beginning to savour the taste. "Mmmmm." John hums quite unconsciously and finds Sherlock's cock twitching and almost hitting him in the face.

"Sorry, uh, vibrations were quite nice. You like how it tastes."

"Yeah, actually." John answers even though Sherlock hadn't asked a question. "Can I do more?"

"Of all the foolish questions."

"I don't want you to come too soon, I'm not missing my chance again."

"We've got all the time in the world provided you leave my prostate unmolested." They both smile, Sherlock's curse for special stimulation worked in their favour on occasion, leaving Sherlock desperate to come for as long as John wanted. Of course there were a few special occasions where it wasn't necessary but those were definitely the exception, not the rule. "Lick me John, close your eyes and discover me with your tongue."

"Oh god." John swallows hard and decides to start at the root again. Closing his eyes he traces upwards, he hadn't noticed how soft Sherlock's skin was there, how it moved over his engorged flesh. John licked and traced the curves and lines of his shaft, the prominent veins and little unseen bumps he'd not noticed with his hand. Slowly his tongue finds the ridge of his glans, tracing and flicking, the taste of Sherlock stronger there. 

"Good John, keep going." Sherlock's barely in control of his own voice and that spurs John onwards. He flicks his tongue over the ridge, noticing the change in texture that he knew from touching himself. He swirls his tongue around in a circle and Sherlock says his name like a rumble of thunder. "Oh, lick the eye."

John does, the taste is at its sharpest as the pre-come hits his tongue but Sherlock's moaning reaction is enough to make him do it again. John opens his eyes to see Sherlock as he teases him, wiggling his tongue across the very tip. John knows he's sensitive there, he loves to have John's cupped hand rubbing him, and now it's even more so as Sherlock gapes at the sight of John, his eyes desperate and wanting. 

"Lips John, touch me with your lips." 

John begins with a kiss but it's more than that as he drags his lips over Sherlock's spit slick head, sucking a little at the ridge. Sherlock's intake of breath makes John hope that Sherlock will push for him to suck next, John's ready, more than ready now he's over that first hurdle. "I should have been doing this for ages."

"Oh, John. Three, put in three." 

John slips in a third with ease and Sherlock curves his spine into it. John twists and begins to firmly thrust, opening Sherlock more and more each time. John puts a hand to himself, he's half hard well before when he thought he'd be ready. "Not long, Sherlock."

"Mouth, John, I need it."

"What do you need?"

"Suckle at my tip." 

John uses his free hand to guide Sherlock to his mouth and puts the tip between his lips and sucks. "Oh god, John." Sherlock muffles a shout in a moan. "Yes, yes, yes."

John sucks, using his other hand to tease up and down his length. John takes a little more, almost taking in the head. His mouth is starting to feel flooded with Sherlock's taste and now John can't get enough, every drop is confirmation that Sherlock wants him and John's doing this correctly. John flicks his tongue and Sherlock jerks. "Oh, John, you're a natural, use your tongue, grip me tighter, oh god."

John grips, flicks, and thrusts, all three actions in what he hopes is synchronicity. Sherlock's writhing now and struggling to keep his hips under control. One thrust has John pressing Sherlock's prostrate by accident. "Ah stop!"

"Yeah, sorry, sorry." John pulls his fingers free too, anything could tip him over. "You ok?"

"Nnnugh, oh god that was close." Sherlock's eyes eventually unscrew themselves and his body relaxes again.

"Shall we try something else?" John says with a twinkle in his eye as he climbs up Sherlock's body to kiss him. Sherlock languidly returns the kiss until he tastes John's tongue and suddenly his hands are in John's hair, keeping him close until he can find every last molecule of flavour he'd given to John. John had no intention of going anywhere, letting Sherlock suck the flavour from his lips too, until his erection was beginning to nag knowing what was waiting for him.

"John." Sherlock breathes out. "Condom. Drawer. Now."

"Right." John fumbles for it. He was going to suggest Sherlock put it on for him but his hands were trembling. John rolls it on as quickly as he can with Sherlock watching in fascination. Some extra lubricant and he's ready. God, he's ready. 

"Come, kiss me again." Sherlock demands and John's back over him. Sherlock's legs come up to wrap around John's waist, angling him just perfectly for John's heavy hanging cock. "Guide yourself."

John nods, threading one hand between them to line up. John thanked the heavens that he'd not long come because just the sight of his cock touching Sherlock's glossy hole was making his balls ache. With pressure John pushes... "Sherlock, oh, oh." The feel around his fingers had done nothing to prepare him for the immediate heat and damn tightness that was enveloping the head of his cock as he keeps pushing. It was Sherlock, finally, he was going to properly have him.

"Yes, yes, don't stop." Sherlock's hands squeeze John's shoulders tight but John knows asking if he's alright would be particularly stupid. Right now he's just trying to keep a steady pressure as Sherlock opens for him, taking the ridge of his cock with a jump. "Oh!"

John stills and takes a moment to kiss Sherlock, cupping his jaw and stroking his cheek with his thumb. Sherlock's digging his heels into John's back and trying to pull him closer with such unsubtly that John laughs against Sherlock's lips. John moves again, the laughter fading to a moan as he's overwhelmed with the feeling of Sherlock around him, drawing him in. "God, Sherlock." He'd had fantasies but nothing like this. 

"Quicker, please, fill me."

"Oh, Christ." John focuses on Sherlock's eyes as he sinks in those final few inches and his body is flush with Sherlock. John takes a quick look down between them, it doesn't seem wrong in the slightest that there's a cock between them. If anything it feels more right than anything John's ever known. 

Sherlock guides John's attention back to him. With pink flushed cheeks, dark eyes and puffy lips, John can't remember Sherlock ever looking as gorgeous as he does in this moment with John inside him. "Wonderful, John. Now I want you to move, we'll work out the right angle as we go along."

John takes his first thrust and groans like he's never done with anyone else. The way Sherlock feels around him, the fact that Sherlock's even letting him do this at all, it's intoxicating as he takes another and another. "Oh god, Sherlock. You're amazing, brilliant, fantastic!"

"How I've craved to feel you inside me. God I feel every inch of you." Sherlock's adjusting John's entry by moving his hips and legs around John's waist until he wails. "That's it! Oh, just there!" Sherlock's almost got his hips lifted off the bed to get it just right leaving John just to thrust as he bears down over Sherlock. "Perfect, god, hard like that."

"Christ, Sherlock, you're a firework." Sherlock's doing nothing to hold back his responses, moaning John's name as he strokes any part of John he can reach. Sherlock thumbs John's nipples, rolling and squeezing them, almost distracting John from his relentless pace. "Sherlock."

"John, yes, take me."

John was even more grateful he wasn't on a hair trigger because talk like that would do him in. Sherlock's unashamed display of pleasure beneath him was enough, Sherlock's face showing everything he could feel. No wonder Sherlock had only wanted to see John's face, it was beautiful to watch, John could tell every time he'd stroked Sherlock's prostate just right and endeavoured to make every drive inside perfect. "Gorgeous, Sherlock, let's do this forever."

"Agreed, ohhhh." Sherlock's fingers dug into John's arms. "Ohhhhhuuuhhh." 

John smiles in triumph, that was it, the perfect angle and he was getting it again and again and again. "That's it, let me take you, Sherlock, I've got you now."

"John." Sherlock stutters, reaching for his own prick. John wants to do that but he has to brace on both hands to keep the angle perfect.

"Go on, I'm watching you." 

Sherlock doesn't tease, tugging rough and fast. John's entranced as Sherlock touches himself, John still marvels at his lack of shyness. John watches for those tells that Sherlock's on edge, that halt in his breathing, "John, oh John, my John, _ohhh."_ His words dissolve into noise as his release hits him. Sherlock passage cinches down tight around John and with a half uttered plea he's coming too. Sherlock's got him tight and pulsing down the length of him and it was just too much to keep from spilling inside. He can't move or thrust as he's lost in the pulse of muscle. Sherlock's still stroking the last of his orgasm as he begins to naturally unclench. John's faintly away of Sherlock stroking his face and pushing his hair off his forehead. "Oh, I made you climax, wonderful, wonderful." Sherlock soothes dreamily as he brings John down and unwraps his legs from around his waist. 

John with some awareness carefully pulls out, hoping one time they might just do without the condom so he can stay inside. He wants Sherlock to be full of him long after. A quick check that Sherlock's ok, force of habit, and John collapses next to him. "That was... mind blowingly amazing."

"I wouldn't hesitate to agree. So you are fully convinced of the virtues and merits of gay sex?"

"Sherlock sex. Don't think it would be the same with anyone else."

Sherlock smiles and makes a quick effort to clean himself up. John watches in a daze, he'll definitely be doing that again. It was like losing his virginity, a whole new list of things he wanted to learn and discover with his body and Sherlock's had opened up to him. 

Sherlock settles down and wraps himself around John in a limpet fashion. John kisses his sweat dried forehead and thinks briefly about the shower they could share once they've slept. Sherlock takes John's hand and laces their fingers together. "You called me love."

"Yeah I did." John smiles.

"I like that."


	10. A Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been toying with this addition for ages and I've finally decided to post it. Not only that but there will be one more porny installment after this because... wait, I don't need a reason! 
> 
> This is set a few months on and Sherlock's made an error on a serial killer case.

"Oh fuck." John paces the small seated alcove near the hospital room the paramedics have taken Sherlock. He's been told to wait outside while they assess him. John takes a few deep breaths but they're not helping. He's shaking and his lungs are threatening to tighten to nearly nothing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"John." Lestrade calls and jogs over. "How is he?"

"They're checking him over now, he's still unconscious but stable. Jesus Christ." 

Lestrade puts a steadying hand on John's shoulder which stops him from pacing but not the cold shivers from the shock. "Good job you were there."

John nods a little too much, the adrenaline flowing uncomfortably. "Fuck." He keeps seeing it over and over, Sherlock's half shout as he's violently thrown backwards. Electrocution. John rubs his face and tries to straighten up and be strong but it's a losing battle. 

"We're still dealing with the house, what did you and Sherlock find out?"

"No, no I need to see him first." There was no pulse, he wasn't breathing, lips blue. John resuscitated him out of reflex but this wasn't just any patient, it was Sherlock. He'd given mouth to mouth dozens of times but he couldn't separate himself from the person he was trying to save. He'd never been so frightened in his life. 

As soon as John had gotten his heart beating again and Sherlock was breathing for himself John called an ambulance. It had felt like an age before it arrived, just John and Sherlock a murderers house. John had sat there monitoring his pulse, kissing his forehead and pleading with him to wake up. Sherlock hadn't woken. 

"He's alright, they're taking care of him. Give 'em ten minutes to get him settled and we'll see." 

"I- fuck... yeah." John knew it made sense to stay out of the way but he wasn't happy about it. He needed to see him, to touch him, let him know.

"Listen, we need to catch the bastard and I don't have the faintest clue what Sherlock knows. The last text I got him was something about an old Yellow Pages. What had you found?"

John's thinking about where to start when Sally wanders over with a mobile phone between ear and shoulder while taking notes. "They've cut the power to the building and found some photographs of the victims and a few other people, sir."

Sherlock had been breaking into a safe when he'd triggered a booby-trap. It had killed him, if only for a few moments, he was gone. John tries to think about Sherlock's steady pulse against his fingers but electrical current has the potential to cause all sorts of internal damage. Ignorance would truly be bliss. 

"Does that make sense to you, John? Photographs?"

"Yeah, they're, um, past and future targets." John struggles to bring himself back into the conversation. "We found his camera smashed to pieces earlier. I don't know what or who links them though. Sherlock was talking when he got shocked." John's saying the words but his eyes are looking past them, he needs information.

"What was he saying?"

He really doesn't want to be dealing with this right now but it might get them off his back and then he can wave his medical credentials around and see Sherlock. "Um, god, uh... right, you're looking for an electrical engineer, academically educated but working something he feels is beneath him." John wracks his brain, trying to remember what Sherlock was saying but still with one eye on any movement that might suggest Sherlock had taken a turn for the worse. "Um, he lives alone, doesn't drink-"

"Anything relevant?" Lestrade butts in. 

"It's all relevant!" John snaps. 

"God, you're turning into him." Donovan's snide remark and derisive laugh has John ready to let loose when he feels Lestrade's hand on his arm in friendly warning. John backs down and lets him speak, getting kicked out of the hospital won't do Sherlock any good. Though he might be proud.

"Oi, Donovan, be professional, yeah? What else, John?"

"Mid-forties. Then he triggered the safe and..." John relives it again. The smell of burning skin. 

"Yeah, that's good, really helpful. I've got to make a couple of calls. Let me know when Sherlock's awake."

As soon as Lestrade leaves John walks away from Donovan and leans against the wall near Sherlock's treatment room but enough around the corner so that a nurse won't chase him away. 

Much to John's annoyance Donovan doesn't take the hint to leave him alone and stands beside him. "I'm sure he'll be fine." 

"Really not in the mood." John can't deal with false pleasantries until he sees Sherlock. "Isn't there some tape you should be standing by?"

"You really have turned into him, is 'freak' sexually transmitted nowadays?"

John huffs a cynical laugh, he knows she's trying to irritate him by insinuating that she knows they're sleeping together but little does she know it's true. "Yeah, fucking best shag of my life." He mutters sarcastically. That's true too.

He's always heard the comments, even before they'd gotten together, but over the last few months the rumours and whispers had been increasing. _"You see the way that Watson bloke looked at him? I thought he was a proper bloke.", "Gay? Really? Nah, not John, seen him flirting with anything in a skirt, unless Holmes is into cross-dressing now!", "Heard the tag-along is taking it up the arse now. Always knew he was a bender."_ So far John had done his best to ignore it. They'd agreed not to make a big deal of their new status and if anything John had been relieved people didn't know. He knew it was selfish but he was still didn't feel ready to deal with whatever lay on the other side of being public. 

He was still scared though, he could tell Donovan right now but he doesn't, the words just won't come. He didn't want to been seen differently just because he'd fallen in love with another man, like he'd somehow deceived people by not revealing himself. He doesn't want people to somehow turn it on Sherlock like it was all his fault, he gets enough hurtful words just by being who he is. It was supposed to be better as a secret but it wasn't anymore.

Mrs Hudson is the only person who knows and she found out quite by accident when a post-case shag started up against the front door of the flat. After a little squeak of surprise she made an excuse to leave them to their 'activities'. She came the next afternoon with some congratulatory cake and told them both that they'd better look after each other for all they got up to. John had certainly done the looking after today, he dreaded to think what might have happened if he hadn't been there. He didn't need to think, he knew.

Donovan huffs a sigh but she won't shift. John needs to get rid of her. "Can you-" 

_"Don't touch me and get me John Watson! Or shall I let everyone in the hospital know about your chronic masturbation habit?"_

John starts off to the hospital room but Donovan is following. "Get Lestrade." John orders, knowing that will buy him a few minutes alone with Sherlock. He rushes into the room to find Sherlock sat up, trying to pull the wires on his chest away despite the efforts of the distinctly pissed off doctor. "Stop harassing the staff and leave those on." John swats Sherlock's hands away and replaces the wires to his bare chest. John turns to the doctor, intent on abusing his status as fellow physician. "I'm a GP at a clinic in Westminster. Can you give us a minute?"

"With pleasure." The older doctor grumbles before stalking away. 

"He'll be masturbating." Sherlock mumbles and John tries not to laugh. He'd been so lifeless before, now he was anything but. It was like the events of earlier hadn't happened except for the bruised feeling in John's stomach and how he was still fighting back the coldness of shock. 

Once the room is clear John steals a quick kiss. "God, Sherlock." John sighs as he cups Sherlock's face, grateful the last time his lips have touched Sherlock's is to kiss him. "You gave me a fright."

"I'm fine." Sherlock says simply.

"Come on, get comfortable." John pulls the top end of the bed into a sitting position so Sherlock can relax but he's trying to pull out his IV tube. His actions are clumsy what with the damage to his hands and after what he'd been through. "Oi, leave the drip in, you're dehydrated after the shock and you'll miss the pain relief, believe me."

"What was in the safe?"

"Pictures of the victims and some other people, they don't know who. Can we not talk about the case for a minute. How do you feel? Any chest pain? Breathlessness?" John forces Sherlock to lay back a bit and pulls up a stool to sit at his bedside. He rests his hands on Sherlock's forearm. The coldness wasn't fading though. 

"I'm fine, stop fussing." Sherlock's going for the drip again and John grabs his wrist to pull him away.

"Stop fussing? Are you taking the fucking piss?"

"John." Sherlock admonishes. "Calm down, you're being dramatic."

"You died." 

"Almost!"

John can't rein in his temper any longer. "Your heart stopped beating and you weren't fucking breathing! That's not almost! That's fucking dead!"

Sherlock's face falls into confusion then something else more sorrowful.

"They didn't explain that to you."

"I believe I started threatening them before they had the chance." Sherlock looks at his palms, assessing the burns and guessing the voltage that must have shot through him. They're in a right state but recoverable in time. "You performed mouth-to-mouth and chest compressions?" Sherlock must have become away of the ache in his chest, they always left you feeling bruised.

"Yeah." John doesn't want to remember. 

"How long?"

"I got you back after the first round, you were barely gone for ten seconds." It had felt like longer. A lot longer.

"Right. Well, perhaps you can swear a bit this time."

"Fuck." John says resolutely and with a smile betraying his fury. "Right, I think I'm done now."

"Good." Sherlock's words sound hollow, still processing and piecing together what had occured.

"I might save more for bloody Donovan though. Bint." John jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

"I'd kill her but it would only prove her right." Sherlock sounds genuinely rueful. 

"Maybe I'll do it then, surprise everyone."

"They all think I've corrupted you. You're an obvious suspect now."

"Fine, we'll do it together and frame Anderson."

Sherlock huffs a laugh before turning more sombre. "I am... sorry, John."

"You didn't know it was rigged. Not like you're jumping out in front of oncoming trains again."

"It was clever of him, I hadn't expected him to think ahead. That house was his sanctuary, his fortress to plan the killings, I should have known. Either way, I expect it was unpleasant for you."

"You're putting it mildly but yes, 'unpleasant' just about covers it." John rubs his face, he still doesn't feel back to normal. 

"God my chest aches, did you really have to be so rough, John?"

"Bloody sod, come here." John tries to kiss but Sherlock pulls away and pulls his arm free too.

"Incoming. Lestrade and the bint."

"I don't care." John mutters firmly as Lestrade and Donovan stroll in. 

"Yes, you do, don't be rash." Sherlock whispers back before turning his attention to Lestrade. "Look through your records for a stalking complaint made in the past two years by a woman claiming her electrician is making unwanted advances; homemade gifts, flowers, unsolicited visits. He'll have been to her home once, perhaps twice as a 'oh I'm just checking to see if everything is alright madam, all part of my customer service' ploy to see her again." Sherlock does an accent too, John loves him like this. "She's probably gone to the police several times but nothing has been done, written off as her leading him on and she was advised to tell him to bugger off. Useless."

"So what, he decides if the flowers and chocolates don't work I'll give her a dead solicitor instead?" Donovan snarks and John prickles. He knows Sherlock's plenty capable of handling her but John hates the distain in her tone of voice. 

"Yes. It was a gift. The solicitor will have wronged her, probably during her divorce. The electrician did it to please her. The others too. He's been following her for months, he's most likely murdered someone for not holding a door open or sneezing on her shoulder in a queue. He's obsessed, he proving himself to her, that he can provide and be her protector. He loves her."

"Right, we'll take it from here then." Lestrade doesn't leave immediately even though John would be quite happy just to sit with Sherlock and forget about the case. "You gonna be alright, Sherlock?"

"I'm fine now get out, Donovan's face is making me feel unwell and I don't want to be misdiagnosed with some hideous stomach disease just because she's sucking lemons."

John stifles a laugh at Donovan's disgusted expression. Lemons indeed. 

"Yeah, well you scared the shit out of John so try to be a little less of an arse tonight." Lestrade continues.

"I'll be the perfect patient." 

"Freak should be committed." Donovan mutters under her breath. Somehow that word is the final straw. If the words wouldn't come out then he'd show them. He won't be a coward anymore. John moves his hand and places it on Sherlock's forearm, stroking his thumb in a way that could only be interpreted as beyond friendship. He was making his claim. Sherlock doesn't flinch and silently challenges Donovan to say a word. John's right there too with a 'this-freak-is-loved-so-fuck-you' look but his stomach dropping a little knowing that the rumour mill is now going to be spinning with some truth. There's no regret though, he should have done this months ago.

"We're all done then?" John wants them gone before either of them can gather a cogent thought. Lestrade nods without saying a word, still a little dumbstruck. "You best be off before the electrician kills some other unfortunate sod." 

"Yeah, we'll do your statements in a couple of days, alright?" Lestrade says with a wry half-smile that John doesn't mind at all. "Behave, Sherlock." Lestrade orders before leaving, dragging a rather smug Sally behind him. John didn't care if he'd vindicated what she thought, it's not as if people didn't look down on stories of her antics Sherlock supplied to the right gossipy people. It was all six of one and half a dozen of the other. 

Once again there were alone. "Well John, I believe you've just formally outed yourself to the whole of Scotland Yard." To say Sherlock is distinctly unimpressed would be an understatement.

"They all think it anyway."

"Thinking is different to knowing."

"I told you I don't care and it's not like I made some big song and dance about it. 'I, John Watson, am a flaming homosexual for one Sherlock Holmes, I'll be getting into my leather shorts and growing a handlebar moustache from this day forth, that is all.'"

"You'll regret it tomorrow." 

"No, I won't. Christ." John presses and screws up a little extra courage to speak. "What I will regret is pulling away from you when the paramedics arrived because I was scared they'd see me stroking your hair and my secret would be out. For the whole ambulance ride over I didn't let you know I was still with you, I just sat there _looking_ at you, I didn't even speak to you. God Sherlock, I'm so fucking ashamed of myself I don't know how you can even look at me."

Sherlock sits and stares, his mind calculating and absorbing and it's possibly the most disconcerting moment John ever had to endure. He can't look at Sherlock for too long, his insides churning with the implications. Instead he looks around the room, Sherlock's clothes lay in a crumpled heap on one of the surfaces but other than that the room was neat and tidy. He wasn't sure Sherlock would understand, ever the pragmatist, but if the positions had been reversed surely Sherlock wouldn't have cared who was watching. John had seen Sherlock needlessly break a man's fingers for punching John in a fight. John had said he was plenty capable of handling himself and he was actually winning that brawl but he'd still gotten an illicit thrill from Sherlock's protective rage. 

The silence drags on and John's desperate for Sherlock to say something. Finally Sherlock says his name but he's cut off by the doctor's return. The older man has a slight blush to his cheeks and out of reflex John turns to share a smirk with Sherlock but he's still frowning. John feels cold for a completely different reason.

"Right, Mr Holmes." The distinctly refreshed doctor announces. "Would you like us to contact your next of kin before I dress your hands?"

Sherlock tilts his head at John, his words for the doctors ears but very much meant for John. "It appears that my next of kin is right here." 

John's relief is palpable. Such simple little words but they mean the world. "So I am." 

Sherlock leans a little closer to John, "Are we done with this nonsense now?"

"Yes, very, we're very done." John grins again, equally thankful that Sherlock's not holding anything against him and that they don't have to talk about it anymore.

"I assume he's the fellow you were making a fuss about?" The doctor doesn't wait for an answer and injects something into Sherlock's drip. "Good, maybe you'll be more compliant now." He wanders off to the cupboards and pulls out various pieces of equipment. John's seen that tension before, Sherlock had that effect on some people. Most people.

"John." Sherlock says quietly, prompting John to move closer so Sherlock can whisper. "I solved the case."

"I know, I was sat right here in the front row."

"I _solved the case_ but my hands..." Sherlock smiles, a little dopily actually. "I'm going to need your help again. Will you help me John? I so badly need you, don't worry though, I can talk you through it." 

"God." John's reminded of the time after the trepanning case. Sherlock really knew how to abuse that voice of his in the most delightful of ways. "As soon as we get home, I promise. You're probably going to be in for a few days."

"No. Not an option, I leave tonight." 

"Your heart stopped, believe it or not that's actually quite a big medical issue and I can't do an ECG at home."

"Have Mycroft send whatever we might need, you can be my attending physician." He drawls while seemingly staring at John's mouth.

"You really make that sound dirty, you know."

"I know, I meant it to be." He says dreamily. "Mmm, I can't feel my hands." Sherlock stares at his reddened, blistered hands quizzically, like he was deciding whether he should be worried about his lack of sensation.

"That will be the stuff in your drip." John thinks that maybe he should have checked what the Sherlock had been given. Sherlock looks as though he's having trouble focusing. "God, you really pissed him off didn't you?" He whispers as the doctor pulls up a chair on the opposite side of Sherlock's bed.

"I might have also made a comment about his conception and his mother's loose morals. Maybe something about that mole on his chin too."

John catches the fierce glare from the doctor. He looks half possessed, John didn't think they'd spent that long together but Sherlock had certainly made an impression. "Uh, I can do that if you'd like?" John offers, not sure if this man should be let anywhere near Sherlock right now but he won't have been the first medical professional to over medicate or not be too gentle with his procedures. 

"He just needs a quick clean up for now, we'll deal with the skin as it dies over the next few weeks. A painful matter but I'm sure he'll cope." He says in an over cheerful manner. "He got off lucky, he wasn't in contact with the metal for long. I'm more concerned about the cardiac arrest so we'll move him upstairs for tests, we're just waiting for a bed. You'll be their problem then." He finishes rather menacingly.

Sherlock groans in disgust. "No, I'm going home with m'next of kin." John's sure Sherlock slurred.

"Won't be too long." John sooths while trying to assess Sherlock's dark pupils. The man was stoned.

"Bloody... murdering... people..." Sherlock mumbles.

"God, how much did you give him?" 

"Enough to keep him comfortable." The doctor says coolly. "He's fine and my mother is a wonderful, wonderful woman!"

John decides it's best not to agitate him further and keep an eye out. Sherlock wasn't in any pain, though he probably wouldn't notice if someone ran him over in his current condition. 

Sherlock's head lolls towards John, looking comically concerned. "You're not going to actually going to grow a moustache are you?"

"Don't you think it would suit me?" John humours him and strokes his upper lip.

"It would be beyond dreadful."

"Arse. I'd look distinguished."

"You don't mind then. People knowing?"

"Not a bit."

"Good. I want to tell the world..."

"How romantic."

"...I'm shagging John Watson."

"Slightly less romantic."


	11. An Extra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comes a point when you have to stop playing with a chapter and just throw it out there. This wraps up The Curious Case once and for all (and the LAST TIME I ever use present tense). 
> 
> Here's a moment with John and Sherlock, a sexy happy-ever-after.

Over the next few weeks John slowly came out to almost everyone who knew him and some people who didn't after one heated exchange in Paddington Station. Reactions could be separated into two camps, those who'd were a little surprised and those who weren't surprised in the slightest. The least surprised had been Mycroft of course but Sherlock took pleasure in the fact that it was 'Anthea' who had clued him in a few weeks previous, not Mycroft's own genius. 

The most shocked reactions came from the two army mates John valued enough to make the effort to call, the others could find out in time. It was those two calls John had dreaded most and apart from being incredibly uncomfortable for a few moments both had said it didn't bother them. John could sense their discomfort but John made no qualifications, he felt more confident in his relationship with Sherlock than anyone else before. 

The worst reaction had come from one of the female receptionists at the surgery who John had overheard questioning whether John should be allowed to treat children. John had expected to be treated differently by some, maybe even be called a name or two, but that? Somehow it was so much worse than anything he'd prepared himself for, he felt sick to his stomach. Luckily the other receptionists fought his corner and shamed her into silence but John still found it troubling that some people felt like that, even if they kept it to themselves. 

Despite the blips, John knows he's done the right thing. It wasn't as if he was coming out as gay, bi or straight with an exception, he was just spreading the good news that he was with someone who made him happy. Of course he couldn't ignore the fact that his choice of partner was completely contrary to his past but the less he thought about labels, the easier it was. 

It's worth it to live without the edge of nerves that comes from trying not to give yourself away. It was ridiculous to hide. Not much changed in all honesty, just how relaxed he feels. It was quite heartening how quickly it became old news and he and Sherlock could just get on with their lives. 

John's not the only person with a new spring in his step. Sherlock's happier too, more secure and content when they are outside of the bubble of the flat. It hasn't stopped him being reckless or occasionally inconsiderate. He spent a good week researching different booby-traps from around the world and throughout history once he was discharged from hospital. He's started amassing equipment to run trap experiments once his hands are useable again and John's already beginning to dread the potential gauntlet the flat will become. What's a test trap without a test subject? 

Sherlock's incapacity hasn't been all bad. It gave them a chance to relive the quasi-beginnings of their relationship in a whole new and a lot less conflicted fashion. Their first night home after Sherlock's hospital stay they re-enacted Sherlock's original late night visit to John's bed but this time when John had been desperate to come he forewent simple rutting against Sherlock's leg and took him while Sherlock was still on his knees gasping for breath from his desperately overdue orgasm. John played along, telling Sherlock he'd never felt anything like this before, how he'd never touched a man before, how badly he wanted Sherlock and Sherlock alone. John had seen stars, well overdue himself. Sherlock had sniggered afterwards saying he would have had a much more difficult time convincing John he wasn't hiding latent homosexual tendencies if he'd done that the first night.  
Now, three weeks after the electrocution, John's in heaven. The day had been a busy one so Sherlock demanded that John immediately take him to bed but hadn't expected to be the focus of Sherlock's attentions. He lay spread eagled on Sherlock's bed with a set of lusciously pink lips sliding smoothly down his cock before pulling upwards with a deliciously firm suck. 

"Oh God..." John's hips buck up of their own accord, now pinned down by two bulky, bandaged hands. "Sorry, ah, yes, Christ, more."

Sherlock takes him deeper this time, holding John in his mouth and moaning his desire like John's the best thing he's ever tasted. The little vibrations are making John writhe, his legs spreading further and hands gripping the bed sheets rather than Sherlock's hair. He wants nothing more but to push up, deeper into that humming heat but Sherlock keeps him down. Torturously slowly Sherlock sucks and swallows, swirling his tongue as he slides up to just massage his lips across John's glans. "I've been an idiot, John."

"No, no very clever, god so clever."

Sherlock grins and withdraws his attention from where John was really bloody enjoying it to kiss John's spread legs. "My injury is leaving you neglected. Look at the way you're exposing yourself John, your body is crying out for invasion, for my fingers to press into you, for me to touch you inside and out."

"I can be patient, I can, just please, your mouth." He sounds far from patient but Sherlock has stopped licking his thigh and is now licking the exposed underside of his bottom. John leans up on his elbows to watch Sherlock until his tongue starts to wriggle and tease at the beginning of his cleft. "Oh bloody..." John falls back, his muscles deserting him.

"I know I've made you finger yourself, and mmm, I've enjoyed that very much, but my fingers, my whole body aches to be inside you, John."

John shot up on to his elbows again. "Sherlock..." That was _not_ happening. 

"Not that part of me, I've no interest in putting my penis there."

"Good."

"Anyway, I'm an insatiable bottom and I don't want things to change. Heaven forbid you should actually get a taste for it and I should have to compromise." 

"Heaven forbid." John smiles with more than a little relief. As much as Sherlock reassures John that he doesn't want to fuck him, he still feels that occasional twinge that he isn't doing something right, that he's depriving Sherlock of something he should be entitled to enjoy. Of course the currently more pleasant twinge of Sherlock giving him a love bite where only Sherlock would be able to see it is infinitely more distracting.

"No, I'm thinking about something else completely." Sherlock's tongue strays further south and John's buttocks clench hard together with the realisation. "No?"

"Not _no_ but... really? You want to... do _that_?" 

"John, I'd use my big toe if I didn't think you'd find that ridiculous." Sherlock bites and lets his teeth scrape across the most sensitive spot of John's thigh so close to where his tongue had teased. "I don't just want to, I _have_ to, I _need_ to, the desire is possessing me. I _have_ to be inside you."

John forever struggles when Sherlock pleads; his eyes intensely staring as if he wants to eat John alive. "God... um, yes, yeah alright."

Sherlock's smile lights up and without a word rolls John over and begins working his way down John's back with soft, warm kisses. John shivers, he'd never known he had such a sensitive back until Sherlock had claimed kissing every freckle on his body as his reward for being right on a bet John had never disagreed with. Slowly Sherlock travelled further down, stopping to nuzzle and place more reverent kisses in the small of John's back. "Mmmm, Sherlock." John sighs as he relaxes into the mattress. "Very nice."

"It gets better, I assure you." Sherlock nudges John's legs a little wider and makes himself comfortable between them, his head right where he wants it to be. "Oh, wonderful." John can feel the words whispered against his skin, fluttering over his not quite fully exposed centre. Sherlock tries to spread John's buttocks a little wider. "Damn, aggh."

"Hurts?"

"Quite." He answers his through his gritted teeth, the pain not yet subsiding. 

"I can-" John goes to move but Sherlock stops him with a forearm to the small of his back.

"D-don't kneel up, I want you like this. I want you just how I've been fantasising for weeks. No compromises." John moves his legs further apart still, letting Sherlock get close as he can. John wants this now, hard and aching. Sherlock was right, he's missed Sherlock's fingers and the intensity that came with letting Sherlock completely take over. This might just scratch that itch now he can feel stubble where he's never felt it before as Sherlock kisses and then licks-

"Sherlock!" John can't help but cry out, shocked by the electrifying touch. John thought it would feel like lubricated fingers but- "Christ, oh, Christing hell!" Sherlock's huffing breaths across his wet hole was heightening every sensation. Sherlock keeps his face buried between John's cheeks, desperate to taste as his tongue licks and flicks. "Sherlock, don't stop, don't you dare stop."

That spurs Sherlock on, his tongue drawing flat across his tightly furled knot then teasing with a point, swirling and then gently prodding. John groans something helpless, a plea for more and more and _more_ but Sherlock pulls back to rest his head on John's bottom. "Need air. God, you taste wonderful."

"Feels... Christ, can't believe you're doing this." John reaches out aimlessly and strokes the back of Sherlock's head. "Thank you."

"More." Sherlock dives back in, finding that spot and licking and flicking fast now, no prodding, just that tongue everywhere and John can't keep still. Sherlock's moaning and sending those rumbles so deep inside they might as well have been hummed against his prostate. "John, I can't get close enough. Hands. Hold yourself apart for me."

John's eyes widen but he does as he's told like always. Out of everything he's done for Sherlock, hell in his life, this has to be the most erotic and goddamn wanton. "L-like this?" John puts a hand on each cheek and pulls to part them. The cool rush of air where he's wet is shamefully exhilarating. 

"More, grip slightly lower and hold." Sherlock gently guides John to where he wants, exposing him to the most lurid extent. "Oh, oh that's it, perfect. You are a vision. Better than fantasy." 

John can't speak, it's too much to have Sherlock looking at him like this but he doesn't want to break the moment. 

"Beautiful, John." Slowly Sherlock starts to kiss and lick at top of his cleft again, slowly working his way lower and lower- "You want my tongue, John?"

"Yes! Please, yes, god!"

Sherlock chuckles and his wet tongue starts again, starting at his perineum and slowly dragging up and across his spread knot before blowing cool air making John jerk and almost lose his grip. 

"Please, Sherlock. Again." 

Of course John's wishes are almost always obliged unless Sherlock can think of something even better. John jerks and gasps again as Sherlock pauses over his hole, just massaging his tongue in thick circles before curling it and swirling it to the very centre. John tries to relax but the sheer incredible joy of Sherlock licking him is making his hole twitch and spasm, almost dragging Sherlock's tongue inside. 

Sherlock's in no rush, pulling back to kiss and nuzzle, whisper sweet words and utter filth. "You're amazing John, when I get my fingers back I'm going to spend the whole day with them inside you. I'll lubricate you with my seed and pleasure you from sunrise to sunset."

"God, I'd let you. How do you make me want these things?"

"Because you're only just discovering the sexual pleasure I'm able to give you." With that Sherlock's done with his little breather, plunging back in with more intent, his tongue rigid and probing like he does with his fingers. John would mock his arrogance but it's true, Sherlock has made it his mission to put every woman John has been with in the shade and he was doing one hell of a job too.

John's trying to breathe deeply and let Sherlock inside and slowly he feels that familiar breech. "Yes, yes, Sherlock, oh it's so good, so good." John pulls on his cheeks harder like somehow that will make Sherlock go faster and deeper. "God, oh god."

That tongue wriggles and John gasps a broken noise, biting his lips together and moaning as Sherlock's pressing doesn't stop. He couldn't be more than a couple of centimetres inside yet it felt like Sherlock was touching the deepest part of him. Sherlock wriggles once more and John's moaning through his lips again. Suddenly that tongue is gone. "Sherlock, god, it's good, don't stop."

"Don't hold back, I want to hear you, I always want to hear you."

"Yes, sir." John grins stupidly and sees a smile returned for a brief second before Sherlock's tongue is slipping inside again. John doesn't hold back, something groaning and animalistic emanating from within him but he can't get enough. It makes John squirm into the mattress for the friction as Sherlock opens him wide, able now to plunge inside and swirl his tongue around where he's still tight. "God, Sherlock, your tongue. Uh, oh god, oh god." 

Sherlock groans and starts bobbing his head, his tongue stiff as he fucks that slick pucker. John's aching to touch himself but he'd have to let go of his arse. Sherlock can't do it either and John's desperate. He wishes he'd thought this through better. John's having to settle for rutting but he's right there, so very close but not close enough. 

Sherlock's moaning, finally getting everything he wants and relishing every half sob and broken cry as his finest victory. As each thrust takes on a little curling flick of Sherlock's tongue, John wonders if he might come from this alone but his balls ache so badly and the sheet is starting to burn his cock. God, he wants so badly to come like this.

"Sherlock, I can't, oh god, I'm so close but I can't."

Sherlock leans across to his side table and pulls out a small wash bag. "You're going to come with my tongue inside you, John. I want to feel it." It's a demand or something greater. John doesn't see what Sherlock took out but he hears it.

"Sherlock what are you-" John's chokes as the object comes to buzz against his hole. "Jesus, Sherlock! Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!" John's legs scrabble uncontrollably as the small, slim vibrator slips inside just short of his prostate. Something's stopping it from slipping completely inside without Sherlock holding it but John can't think about anything but the surge of incredibleness inside him that's vibrating up his cock too. Soon Sherlock's tongue joins it, fitting alongside of the toy and John's gritting his teeth and damn near yelling.

John's brain is scrambled. He's got a vibrator inside him for the first time and it's bloody amazing. He can't keep his legs from twitching and thrashing, he's rutting his hips and squeezing his cheeks hard. "Sherlock! I'm gonna, god, I'm gon- Sherlock..." Sherlock pushes his tongue up against the vibe and John feels like he's exploding and he's shouting out. He jerks and humps the mattress, fucking his own come as he shivers from the inside out. He's unaware of Sherlock's name that's desperately falling from his lips as he loses control.

When his vision returns and his limbs go lax his whole body feels like its vibrating. The toy is gone and the humming silent. He releases his cheek and lets his arms fall by his sides. There's no hope of speaking, he's only just managing to breathe.

Sherlock stays quiet too, kissing and nuzzling the length of John's back, savouring his afterglow as if it was his own. Silently they lay entwined, only the occasional squirm by a still frustrated and hard Sherlock to disturb his reverie. 

"John?"

"Anything, anything you want."

"Your mouth and fingers." 

John makes a faint sound of agreement though he was hoping Sherlock would just rub off against him because John's brain is still offline and his body so limp he's not sure if he can move but after what Sherlock just did he has to reciprocate. 

Before John can even begin to tell his body to move Sherlock's rolled him on his back, straddling his chest and presenting his cock to John's mouth. "Open."

"None of..." John strokes his fingers lightly up Sherlock's thighs and although he sighs beautifully, John can see how ruined he looks already. 

"No, no, your mouth, now." Sherlock quite rudely nudges his cock at John's lips but John gently laughs.

"You may have taught me a lot about sex, love, but you've got a lot to learn about manners."

"Grrr, _please!_ "

"Better." John smiles and opens up, letting Sherlock slide inside with a hot groan of relief. John puts his hands on Sherlock's hips, knowing Sherlock could well cause him choke in this position. As much as John wants to take every inch, it just isn't something he's been able to do with his sensitive gag reflex. Sherlock doesn't care, it has always been more about the timing of the suction for him, just the right amount and in the right rhythm to get him off.

"Ohhhh, yes." Sherlock braces himself on the headboard and lets his head fall forward to watch his prick slide back and forth inside John's mouth. "Beautiful, John."  
John closes his eyes and focuses, the rest of his body still languid and relaxed. He's on autopilot; Sherlock's cock almost like a comfort.

"Annilingus was everything I fantasised about and more. The way you moved, such abandon, you couldn't control yourself. I could only hope for such a reaction."

John let Sherlock's praise wash over him, enhancing the act of pleasuring him. They found a rhythm of suck and slide, John laying his head still while Sherlock rocked his hips back and forth. 

"I've never performed the act before, I've never considered it until recently."

John let a flash of surprise cross his face as he caught a moment of shyness from Sherlock. John stroked Sherlock's hips affectionately, letting his thumbs brush through his thatch of hair.

"You were magnificent, John. You want it to happen again?"

"Mmm hmm." John confirms around Sherlock's prick. He's dribbling down his chin so wipes it away. 

"Don't, I want to see you looking even more debauched. Look at you, spent from my tongue inside you. You came so hard, John, I can still feel you on my tongue now, tight, so tight." John moans and sucks harder, wanting to hear Sherlock say more. "We'll do it again when my hands have recovered so it's just my tongue next time. Maybe I'll make you hold yourself wide for me again, I'm going to take a photograph of that so you can see how wonderful you look. Those nail marks you left, ohhhh." Sherlock loses himself for a moment, his composure and control slipping. "You must see yourself."

John doesn't moan but whimpers this time. They'd had taken a few photographs now though John made Sherlock delete them once they'd 'enjoyed' them. John's favourite had been a simple photograph he'd taken of Sherlock in his sleep, he just happened to be nude with a massive erection at the time.

"Did you enjoy the vibrator, John?"

John makes an agreeing noise though he'll probably make it a rule that Sherlock should probably ask before he puts anything else up his arse by surprise. Not that Sherlock hadn't hinted at exploring new things together. As much as he enjoyed penetration, it could feel a little overwhelming at times. He doesn't want anything any bigger.

"It took me weeks to find one to your specifications." John curiously looks up, still guiding Sherlock back and forth, idly cupping and stroking Sherlock flexing behind. "It had to be the perfect length so to stimulate but not touch your prostate." Sherlock pauses to gasp, his eyes rolling backwards for a brief moment due to John sucking extra firmly. "I triple checked the measurements and I've been testing your responses for weeks to calculate, ohhhh," John caught Sherlock off guard again with a slide of his tongue across Sherlock's slit to taste him. "To assess the perfect vibrating speeds so you wouldn't be over stimulated. It has four but I couldn't activate them. I adapted it with a plastic ridge so it would sit inside you without having to hold it." Sherlock grunts, losing his train of thought. "My first time with one was a revelation, I wanted to give you that and it worked perfectly. Perfectly."

John has to agree again, this time by letting Sherlock sink a little deeper and sucking a little firmer. Sherlock tips his head back and gasps, long and beautiful. John encourages him to pick up the pace, sliding back and forth with fluid grace despite John's occasionally slurping inelegantly in his effort to please, losing his rhythm. 

"Yes, John, yes." Sherlock husks with a gentle stroke to John's cheek. "Keep going. Relax your jaw."

John consciously relaxes and his rhythm returns, feeling at one with Sherlock's movement.

"Look at me." John's eyes open and dart upwards. "Oh yes, savour the feel of me on your tongue, John. Taste my desire for you."

John flicks his tongue over the head of Sherlock's prick, tasting his sharp tang as Sherlock shudders above him. John wants to slip his fingers inside now, they're almost itching for the tight heat, but he's forgotten to prepare the lube. Improvising he presents his fingers to Sherlock's mouth who greedily sucks them in. John's eyes roll back for a moment and he's sure he's going to get hard again. Watching Sherlock is incredible, he's got his eyes closed as he slathers John's fingers with his tongue, lips wrapped tight and his mind lost in carnal thoughts. "Now." He gasps as he releases John's sopping fingers and spreads his knees. 

John knows he can push in with two straight away. It was only this morning that John had taken him as they woke up spooning, clearing Sherlock's head for the day ahead but they hardly needed an excuse.

"John, now, John, now, aaahhhh!" Sherlock's demands are cut off as John sinks them in deep and hard. Sherlock moans, pushing back as John pushes in. "Yes, more, more." John uses just the right touch against Sherlock's sweet spot to quieten his pleading, all the while trying to rub his tongue against the underside of Sherlock's cock. It took massive amounts of coordination but John's spurred on by the wordless sounds falling from Sherlock's lips as he flexes his hips. 

The concentration reminds John of when he first helped Sherlock, the pleasure he took in getting everything just right, listening for those clues to build Sherlock towards his climax. The invasion in John's mouth and the tight squeeze around his fingers is everything he needs to feel wanted and oh-so good. 

"Suck me harder now, oh god, close."

John can tell he's close, the taste sharpening with every second. John squeezes Sherlock's hip tight and allows him to go faster still. Sherlock still tries to control how deep, watching John and his cock closely. John hums, signalling that he can take more and wants more. Sherlock can't resist the invitation, encouraging John to tip his head back just enough to go that little bit deeper. 

"John, god, oh. Yes." 

John's pressing as hard as he dares on Sherlock prostate now. John wants more and starts to move his head, drawing Sherlock in faster and sucking harder, ignoring the wetness dripping from his chin and the buzz of friction in his lips. 

John looks up and Sherlock's a complete wreck above him, his head fallen between two arms braced on the head board. As many times as John's seen Sherlock lost to a moment like this it never ceases to amaze him. For a brief second Sherlock's comes to focus on the man beneath him and John smiles just with his eyes. "Oh!" Sherlock is silenced as his orgasms swells and erupts in a euphoric wave. 

John coughs and swallows out of instinct but Sherlock pulls back, realising he's still in John's mouth and spends the rest of himself on John's face. John closes his eyes out of reflex, come streaking his cheek and the pillow. John's more shocked about the taste that's clinging to his tongue, he's never let Sherlock come in his mouth before and although it didn't taste particularly lovely, he knows he wants that to happen again. 

"Bugger. Sorry." Sherlock pants from above. It's as sorry as he can muster. 

"'Slright, remember when I came on your face?" John tries to joke as he frees his fingers. "Tut, tut."

Sherlock half laughs, "Yes, that was poor fellatio etiquette on my part." Sherlock's face creases with concern. "I came in your mouth."

"A bit. I didn't mind." John lets a little, feral smile creep across his face. It was worth the taste just to see Sherlock lose it like that, he could let it happen again. 

"You didn't mind?"

"No, but I really do want to wash my face and I seriously need to clean my teeth. When you're ready to get off me that is."

"Ah, yes, I should move, yes." Sherlock didn't move, choosing to rest his head on his arm instead. "That was exceptional." 

"Well I have a good teacher."

"Yes, you do." Sherlock grins with a bit more life. "I'm moving now." He climbs off but holds on to John's arm, not letting him leave just yet. "You, um, look lovely." Sherlock may have just climaxed but he still looks like he's close to throwing John down on the bed and seeing to the half interested semi he's had since Sherlock sucked on his fingers. "Very lovely."

"You wanted me debauched." John knows his lips are swollen, his chin still wet with saliva and with the seminal decoration no wonder Sherlock's looking like a man possessed with need.

"Indeed you are." Sherlock drags his thumb through his own come wiping John somewhat cleaner but Sherlock seems to enjoy the shining smear more than anything. John really wishes he was up for more now but his toothbrush was beckoning. Loudly. The flavour was definitely something a lot stronger than he was used to tasting from Sherlock and it really lingered. "I'd kiss you silly but-"

"Not on your life! I know where you've been!"

"Oh please, it would take away the taste in your mouth, you are obviously finding it distasteful." Sherlock hauls John off the bed and leads him to the bathroom by the bandaged hand. He staggers sideways for a moment, his legs not quite functional but a determined Sherlock was never easily defeated. 

"Not distasteful, just very different. Anyway, I'm looking for an improvement."

"Let's share a bath." Sherlock sets the bath running and sits John on the edge.

"Sounds good, are you going to make me hold a journal for you again?" 

"No, this will be purely post-coital plus the weather is due to turn cooler tomorrow and your shoulder will begin aching in the night, might as well warm it through."

"Do you often check the weather for me?" 

"I check it as a matter of course, I pay attention to any drop in pressure for you." Sherlock dampens a flannel in the warm water filling the tub and gently wipes John's face. His bandages are getting soggy but John was going to change them anyway. John isn't sure why he's letting Sherlock do this for him but he can't come up with a good reason to stop him so he lets Sherlock carry on. The man checks the weather for him. "It's been a good day."

"You'll have to make sure you don't delete this one."

"I've never deleted a moment of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! 
> 
> Thanks so, so much to everyone who has read this and I hope you enjoyed the ending. Writing has been incredibly hard recently so it feels good to post something. 
> 
> Remember, the moral of the story is to always have good sexiquette :)


End file.
